What If? Sabretooth: Father
by Storyseeker
Summary: What if Graydon Creed had been found and raised by his father, Sabretooth, instead of his mother Mystique?   Warning: Mature language and violent scenes.
1. Prologue

_**I do not own any of Marvel's characters. This isn't for profit, but fun!**_

_**Many thanks to Aesop for beta reading, and to Paperspiral for corresponding all my ideas with!**_

_**This story is inspired by the comic "What If? Wolverine: Father", which got me thinking about what if Sabretooth had raised his son, Graydon Creed? This fic takes place after the short story published in the comic "X-Men Unlimited (VOL 1) #40". For those who haven't read that issue, below is a brief description: -**_

_**Sabretooth is at his campsite in Germany when a beautiful woman stumbles upon him, pleading for food. He allows the woman to stay, though in return he demands certain 'favours' from her. Having not too many options, the woman agrees. Sabretooth then arranges passage for them both on a freighter to Canada, and during their journey, Sabretooth reveals that he has smelled that she is a mutant and that he, too, is one. After he reveals his abilities, the woman shows him her own gift. She can change her appearance, and goes by the name Mystique. Sabretooth tells her that there are others like them in Canada who he wants to join and fight with. She agrees to join him, but also starts manipulating him, as she pits him against the sailors, claiming that they wanted to blackmail her into having sex with them. When the freighter arrives in Canada, the crew are all dead, and Mystique and Sabretooth join some other mutants in a bar. Creed makes it clear that he will be the team's leader, and later that night, when Mystique reveals that she is pregnant, he thinks that it couldn't get any better. However, Mystique drugs him and gives him up to the military who cart him off.**_

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**Prologue: **

_My name is Uatu. _

_I am__ a member of the Watchers, an extraterrestrial species who, in the distant past, stationed ourselves across space to monitor the activities of other races. I was assigned long ago to observe Earth and its solar system. _

_In that time, I have witnessed many strange, wondrous and devastating marvels in this seemingly insignificant star system. From the awesome destructive power of The Incredible Hulk, to when the malevolent entity, The Phoenix, took on the life of the X-Man, Jean Grey, and threatened all of creation. I have seen it all! _

_In addition to seeing all that occurs in the cosmos, I also see into alternate universes, parallel worlds that never were, but what easily could have been. _

_I see an Earth on which Spider-Man joined the world's mightiest fighting team, making it the Fantastic Five. I see an Earth on which the Nazis won World War II and fly their flag over the White House. I see an Earth on which the planet's premiere fighting team is the Squadron Supreme. _

_I even see an Earth on which the dreaded assassin Sabretooth was able to claim his son, the demented anti-mutant spokesman, Graydon Creed. _

_The man I speak of was very different to his father, and yet was also much like him. Graydon Creed was neither a mutant nor a skilled assassin, but when it came to rage he was every bit his father's son. His life had been filled with nothing but hate for those born different, his rage knowing no limits. _

_From what I observed, all this hatred seems to stem from the neglect and abandonment he suffered at the hands of his mother, the mutant shape-shifter Mystique. _

_In this new world I see, I watch his parents meet in a way different to how they did in the Earth I usually observe. I see them meet and actually reveal their true identities to one another, before Mystique betrays Sabretooth. I see how after the betrayal, the two of them went their separate ways, more or less following the same paths as their counterparts did. _

_But my sight is drawn to another Earth, where Sabretooth was able to track down Mystique after his incarceration. _

_I must admit, I have always been curious about what kind of life that poor wicked man, Graydon, might have had if he not been raised by his mother, but by his father instead. _

_It is this Earth that I now examine. _

**To Be Continued…**


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: **

_**I do not own any of Marvel's characters. This isn't for profit, but fun! **_

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**Chicago:**

Victor Creed, the man who also went by the codename Sabretooth, scaled the wall of the house, and leapt from the top. His lean cat-like form pounced on the ground, his keen sense of smell exploring the area around him.

'She's definitely here!'

He was, of course, referring to Mystique, the bitch who had stolen his heart, followed by his role as leader of what was supposed to be his team of big bad mutants, and finally his freedom.

Sabretooth honestly didn't know who he should be the more angry at…Mystique for betraying him and dobbing him to the cops, or himself for actually trusting her.

The last time he had seen her had been right after what was quite possibly the best day of his life.

He had come home to Canada from Germany, where he had met Mystique, offering her the chance of a new life with him leading a group of mutants they had found. The mutants they had found hadn't been the sharpest blades in the armoury, but their powers more than made up for that. With all their powers combined, he truly believed they could have taken on the world.

There he had been, with a new home, a sleek and gorgeous mutant gal at his side in bed; a new team to lead, nothing beyond their reach, and to top it all off…Mystique had then told him she had a bun in the oven.

He had allowed himself a moment of weakness, actually lowering his guard to enjoy that one brief moment in time where everything in his life finally seemed to be perfect. It had only been for one moment, and he had paid for it dearly.

The overgrown chameleon had drugged him with a needle when he wasn't looking, and the next thing he knew it was morning and he was being carted off by the army to parts only they knew!

He remembered lying in that damn cage, being loaded onto the truck like a dog, with Mystique in her human form staring at him, acting like she didn't know him. He had actually begged her to help him…_him_! Sabretooth, the most feared mutant assassin in all Canada, if not the world, reduced to begging for help!

He had realised right there and then how low he had fallen, how soft he had become, thanks to her. She had made him weak, tricked him into killing all those sailors on the ship and then turning him in!

He could forgive her for the deception in getting him to kill those assholes on the freighter, especially that dumb-ass Christian. The guy had had it coming anyway, and he had enjoyed the exercise. But turning him in to the cops, helping them to arrest him and watching from afar as they loaded him in like a piece of game… That wasn't smart!

He had spent the last several months in a holding cell at some government security place. The pencil-necks there had certainly done their homework, Sabretooth had to give credit where it was due, since it had taken him over six months, 97 bullets, 54 ripped throats and 23 crushed spines to escape.

Once he had got out and his healing factor had done its job, he had sought after Mystique. It hadn't been as hard as he thought it would, considering that she was a shape-shifter and all, but he figured she would still be with those other mutants. Like he himself had told her, with them and their gifts they could take on the world. And Mystique, as he now knew, was not one for giving up power.

It had taken him a couple of months, but eventually he had tracked down the mutants he'd met months earlier, one of whom was called Clicker, the green one. Considering what he had done to their previous leader, Clicker was all too eager to help him with his search, just so he could keep that ugly mug he called his face, and thus pointed him in the right direction.

Apparently, Mystique had a house in Chicago, which was where he was now. Her scent was all over the place, so he knew she was definitely there. Just the smell of her made him want to bare his fangs and unsheathe his claws.

Tonight was the night. It was payback time!

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Raven Darkholme, aka Mystique, watched from her window as Sabretooth raced over the grounds toward the house. She didn't shiver in fear at the sight of him, as that wasn't her style. But she also knew that staying there would be nothing less than pure suicide.

She knew it had been a risk staying with those two clods that she and Sabretooth had found and taken over, but what could she say…the power they represented was too good to pass up.

"Coulda, woulda, shoulda," she muttered to herself.

Sabretooth would easily find her; no matter what size or shape she took, thanks to that insufferable nose of his. Her only chance was to either fight or run.

She reloaded her gun, stopping only briefly to check on the bundle she had left on her bed.

That's when she thought of something.

It wouldn't be the first time she had done something like this, as she had done it right before she had found Sabretooth in the woods of Germany. Of course, she didn't know for certain if it would have any affect on him. For all she knew, Sabretooth would probably eat it and come after her regardless.

Still, it was her best chance for survival, and if there was one thing that Mystique knew above all else, it was how to survive.

She looked down and then back up again, as the front door was smashed open.

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"HONEY!" Sabretooth's roar filled the whole house. "I'M HOOOME!"

No answer. The house was as silent as death.

"Fine," he snarled. "I always did enjoy a game of Cat 'N' Mouse!"

He made his way upstairs, sniffing every scent he came upon. Mystique's smell was all over the place.

"I know what you're planning, honey," he spoke as though she were right next to him, which for all he knew she might very well be. "Probably thinking you'll turn yourself into a lamp or rug, wait until I pass right over you and then make a run for it. Not a bad plan, but I…"

He stopped and sniffed again.

There was something new.

He hadn't smelt it before, as this scent had to be right at the back of the house, so he wouldn't have smelt it till he was inside. The smell was something completely new to this place. The house has loads of other scents that were old, like carpets that had been laid down for years, the shrubbery from outside around the windows, even old smells coming from the kitchen…and, of course, Mystique.

Anything that had been in a house for so long got its scent integrated into the place with other scents, each one blending with the others. But this scent he was now smelling…it had no place here, meaning that whatever it was had only been here a short time, like a few hours or a day at the very most.

The scent itself was…_fresh_. He didn't know any other way to describe it. It was clean, undiluted and new.

He followed it, passing by several rooms, not noticing Mystique or her scent in any of them, until finally he reached the master bedroom.

Sabretooth flicked his talons, drawing them down on the wall beside him. Whenever he was out on a job, when he was about to strike out at his target, he always scratched down on the wall beside him. Kind of like in Friday 13th, giving the guy or gal a clue of what was coming for them.

He turned the knob and opened the door.

Peering inside, he noticed the huge bed with its satin sheets, and numerous other overly expensive things decorating the room. He had to admit, Mystique had taste.

He sniffed… That new scent was in here, but more importantly, Mystique had just been there! No more than a few minutes at most.

He growled. "Where are you, you little…"

"Ah-ahhh," a low whimpering noise sounded in front of him.

"Huh?" He looked ahead, noticing for the first time the pile of sheets that were piled on the bed, until he realised…they weren't sheets. He cautiously approached the bundle lying on the bed, as it sniffed and gurgled, slowly opening its eyes to look at him.

"What the…?"

It was a baby. Male, from the smell of him, Sabretooth thought. Judging by this one's scent, he guessed he couldn't have been any more than a day old.

The baby gurgled.

Sabretooth, for once, just stood where he was in surprise. 'Is he mine?' he suddenly thought. Mystique had said she was pregnant, but after her betrayal he had wondered if maybe that bit of news had just been her twisted sense of humour taunting him.

After getting a closer smell of him, he could tell the baby was definitely related to him, as there were some similarities to this kid's scent and his own. He edged nearer to the foot of the bed, looking down on it, which in turn looked up at him. There was no fear in its eyes, only fascination.

He lowered his head down until his face was right over the baby's own, but still the kid didn't scream or even cry. He sniffed its head, inhaling its scent. There was definitely something in its scent akin to his own, but for some reason he couldn't smell anything mutant. The baby was completely human.

Of course, that didn't mean anything. There had been a time once in his life when Sabretooth had been considered almost human. It had only been when he had gotten older, when he had killed his brother and started growing fangs that the normalcy had ended.

The infant then moved one of its chubby arms, and that was when he noticed the armband.

It was a hospital band that they put on babies' arms. Since this kid was still wearing his, he definitely couldn't have been here any longer than a day. He took hold of its arm, twisting the band around so that he could read the note on it…

"Mother: R. Darkholme… Name: Graydon Creed."

'Graydon?' he thought, snorting with disgust. Was that the best name she could come up with?

The sound of a door closing downstairs suddenly drew his attention, as his ears pricked up, and he snarled. He turned and was about to run out of the room to give chase, but…

"WAAAAA!" the baby wailed.

He paused at the door. Every instinct in him was yelling to go after the blue-skinned bitch and rip her heart out with his bare claws.

"WAAAAA!"

"Shut the fuck up, kid!" he snarled at the baby, his fangs bared. But the kid seemingly had no intention of doing so.

He gripped the door-handle so tight that it came off in his huge hand, as he glared at the infant. "I said SHUT UP!" he roared, marching up to it, his claws outstretched and ready for striking. But when he raised his claw, he stopped.

The second his shadow had engulfed the baby, his huge form once more in the baby's view, its cries immediately ceased. It gurgled, seemingly happy to see him again, though whether this was true or if the baby just had gas was unclear.

At that moment, for the first time since maybe ever, Sabretooth forgot about the hunt, as he looked down on the squirming bundle of flesh before him.

Not knowing what else to do for the moment, he lowered his hand down and scooped the baby up. It was so tiny that it fit right into his one palm, with his fingers raised around it like a small cage.

The baby gurgled again, like it was giggling, as he raised it up to his face. Sabretooth pressed his face back into its own again, which it didn't seem to mind, and in fact even seemed to enjoy.

For the next ten or so minutes, Sabretooth, the most feared and blood-thirsty mutant assassin ever known, stood where he was, cradling the baby that was his son in his hand, letting it play with his face, as it curled and uncurled its small fists on him.

"So you're my darlin' baby boy, are you?" he said, smiling his fangs down on him, and even proceeded to lick him, tasting his skin.

"Graydon, huh?" he thought for a second, as his boy then curled his fist around one of his fingers, grasping it firmly. "Well, I suppose there are worse names."

**To Be Continued…**


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: **

_**I do not own any of Marvel's characters. This isn't for profit, but fun! **_

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**Creed Farm: **

Twelve-year-old Graydon Creed sat at the kitchen-table, slowly eating his dinner. It was steak, well cooked, which was a rarity in their house. Every meal was served with meat, including breakfast, but it was very rare if it was well done, or actually cooked at all. His father actually preferred his meals raw, and had tried feeding it to Graydon a few times, but he had never been able to get his taste buds around it.

Thankfully, though, he did cook a few things, mostly bacon, as even he loved crispy bacon in the morning, though most of the stuff he cooked didn't seem fit for a dog (his dad didn't have a lot of experience in the kitchen). He had once asked him if they could have something different, like a salad or pasta, and his dad's only response had been to tell him that if he didn't like it then he could go hungry.

Living with his father was a constant struggle. It was like living on a safari, in danger of being attacked by ferocious beasts at every turn. In his case, however, the only beast was his father. One moment he could almost be considered cheerful (a true rarity), the next cold and solitary, and the next moment he could be explosive.

His dad had a violent temper.

He wasn't with him tonight, as he had left a few hours ago to, as he said, pay an old friend a visit for his birthday, which he did every year. Graydon didn't know who this _friend_ was, as his dad had never told him, but whoever he was he had to be very special for him to go visit him every year.

He always left him at this time, as well as various other times around the year, leaving him alone for days or sometimes even weeks at a time, which he had done since he was about eight. When he wasn't visiting his friend, all he said was that he was either going hunting or he had _business_.

The first time he had left him, it had been a few weeks after his eighth birthday. His dad had picked him up from school, drove him home and then dropped him off on their doorstep, telling him he was leaving for a bit, so he had to take care of the house till he got back.

Graydon had been nervous to say the least, at being left home alone so young, but his dad had told him he was old enough now, and he had a long overdue appointment with an old friend of his whose birthday was coming up…whatever that meant.

The first night had been the scariest, particularly as there had been a big storm. He remembered lying half awake, clutching his bed-sheets tightly, jumping at every creak, bang and crash of lightning all night, wishing only that his dad would come home. At least with his dad home, he could have rest assured that no one would have been crazy enough to try breaking into their house.

He had been gone less than four days, but Graydon remembered how relieved he had felt when he eventually walked through the front door. He would have rushed right up to hug him if he hadn't known how his dad felt about such emotional displays.

He had ended up leaving again soon after; this time saying he had to go do some work, though Graydon hadn't known what. He had asked if someone needed some work done on their farm? To which his dad had simply shrugged, and then, most curiously, he had left dressed up in an odd brown and orange outfit, which he had just laughed and said was his _business suit_.

Graydon had long since learned not to ask anything of his father's business dealings, and after the third or fourth time he was actually grateful for him being out of the house. It gave him some peace whenever he was away, not to mention a half decently cooked dinner.

The front door suddenly banged open.

"Graydon!" his father's loud voice snarled. "Get here now!"

Graydon dropped his fork in surprise, and hurried to the front room where the man in question was now waiting. He was half naked, as his clothes were in pieces, though Graydon wasn't actually bothered by that. He was used to seeing his father wearing very little, as he would often go hunting in the forest, usually returning with his clothes in tatters and covered in blood.

Today was no exception, as they were all torn and bloody, though none of the blood looked like it was his own, but that didn't mean anything. He knew all about his father's accelerated healing, which meant that any wounds he might have had would have long since healed by now.

He couldn't help but take a look at his father's huge claws, which unsurprisingly were dripping with blood, with bits of flesh hanging from them.

'He said he was going to visit his friend,' he thought. 'He couldn't have lied just to go on another hunting trip, could he? And where's the prey?

His father took a step toward him.

'Uh oh,' he thought, bracing himself for what he knew was coming.

His father held out his hands and cupped his son's head in them, smearing some blood around his face, and pressed his own face right up against his, their noses touching each other, and started sniffing him. Graydon did the same thing, smelling him while trying hard not to blanch at the stench of blood and Lord knows what else.

It was their own special greeting, how they welcomed each other home. Although Graydon didn't have his father's enhanced sense of smell, he had always copied his dad's movements when he was a kid, and this form of greeting of theirs had just sort of stuck.

They started sniffing each other's noses, and then moved down to the sides of their necks, and ended there. He hadn't used to mind it when he was younger, but now…it just felt so freaky!

And all the blood and bits on his dad didn't help matters much either.

"Run a bath!" Sabretooth then said, releasing him. "Then get your things together. We're leaving tonight."

Graydon looked up at him, his eyes wide. "Leaving?" he asked, astounded. "But…why?" They had lived in this house for as long as he could remember. Why would his father want to move now?

"Don't matter!" Sabretooth snarled. "Just get the bath drawn and get your things!"

"But…" he started to say, but stopped at the dark look his father gave him. He had his fist balled, looking like he was eager to hit something.

He was soon proven right, when Sabretooth raised his fist, looking like he was about to punch his lights out, but at the last second he turned and rammed his fist right through the wall.

Graydon kept silent, as his father pulled his fist back, shaking some of the debris plaster from it.

Sabretooth didn't say anything else as he marched past him, heading into the kitchen, most likely for a beer. He didn't say _sorry_, _good boy_ or anything like that. He never did.

Graydon knew better than to antagonise his father (no one was brave enough to do that).

Most boys would be terrified their father was going to hit them in a situation like that, but not Graydon. His father never hit him. He would terrify him, make him do extra hard and back-breaking chores, among other things, give him the odd clip around the ear, but he never hit him…not anymore.

But there had been a time, once, when he had…

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**Eight Years Ago: **

"Graydon!" Sabretooth's voice roared through the cabin-like house where they lived. "Get up here NOW!"

Four-year-old Graydon Creed sat shivering at the kitchen-table. His daddy had obviously just discovered the hole in his bedroom wall, together with the handgun that he usually kept in the back of his wardrobe, now laying on the floor. He thought he didn't know, but Graydon had watched him often enough when he went to his wardrobe (he also kept a few bottles of Jack Daniels in there).

He had been curious about the funny toy that his daddy kept there. Was it a special toy that only he was allowed to play with? For some reason, he kept it in his wardrobe, away from him.

Needless to say, Graydon was curious, so while his daddy had been out working in the fields (he often left him on his own), he had sneaked into his room to find out what was so special about it.

After taking the gun out of the wardrobe, he had turned it around in his hands, finding nothing especially interesting about it. It didn't seem to do anything, nor did it even have any bright colours on it like some of his toys did. He had stuck his finger inside the big funnel at the end, sniffed at it like he had seen his daddy often do, but still nothing.

What was so special about this thing that it had to be kept hidden?

The gun had been a little dusty, having never been used and hardly ever removed from its box. Sabretooth was not one for using so crude a weapon, or any kind of weapons actually, as he generally preferred using his claws and strength instead. He only kept it on the off chance he might need it (it never hurt to have an extra weapon handy in case of an attack).

Graydon had then noticed the small trigger underneath it. Curiously, he had fingered it…

[BANG!]

Graydon had squealed and dropped the gun on the floor. He had just stood where he had been, the sound of the gunshot still in his ears. Luckily, the gun had been pointed away, aimed at the wall behind him.

He had been able to do nothing except stare in shock at the huge hole that now occupied his daddy's bedroom wall, right above his bed.

He had backed away from the gun, afraid that it might go off again, resisting the urge to cry. Not knowing what else to do, and only being four, Graydon had just left it where it was, and went downstairs to wait for his daddy to return. After a few hours, Sabretooth had returned, wiping a layer of sweat from his brow as he walked in through the front door. He had soon spotted his boy sitting in the kitchen, and went up to him on his way to get a beer from the fridge.

The first thing he noticed was that his boy hadn't giggled like he usually did whenever he pressed his nose to him. And then, there was the smell…

"What's that?" he had asked, his nose turned up at the smell of gunpowder coming from upstairs. He had then gone up to investigate, followed soon by his roar.

"I SAID GET UP HERE NOW!" Sabretooth's voice roared again.

Slowly, Graydon got up and made his way upstairs. Once he got to Sabretooth's room…his daddy's giant hand snapped out and grabbed him, grasping him by the front of his shirt.

Graydon wailed, as he was dragged into the room, lifted up from the floor and practically pressed up against his daddy's monstrous face.

"Mind telling me what the fuck happened here?" Sabretooth growled.

Graydon whimpered, as he dangled from his daddy's strong grip. "I-I-I-I…"

"Stop stuttering!" Sabretooth ordered, shaking him. "What are you, some frightened old woman?"

He sobbed.

"And stop that crying, too, or so help me I'll give you something to cry about!"

His son looked up into his menacing eyes, forcing his tears back. "Yes, daddy," he said quietly.

"Now what happened here?" he asked again, indicating the used gun on the floor.

He swallowed. "I… I was playing and I…I banged into the wardrobe and…"

"WHAT WERE YOU DOING PLAYING IN MY ROOM?" Sabretooth shouted, shaking him again. "Don't you fucking dare lie to me, boy! Did you deliberately go through my stuff after I told you not to?"

The boy started sobbing again. "I-I-I was…"

[SLAP!]

"I SAID NO CRYING!" his daddy snarled, slapping him across the face.

This time, Graydon couldn't keep the tears back, as they began flowing out his eyes and down his cheeks, his cries becoming hysterical. Luckily, his daddy hadn't hit him that hard, which was good because a full hit from his giant clawed hands would have snapped his neck.

"Shut up!" Sabretooth demanded. But Graydon was too upset this time to obey, as he wept loudly. "I said shut up! No boy of mine is gonna cry like a wimp!"

He began shaking him, but all that seemed to do was intensify the boy's cries.

"SHUT YER TRAP!"

[SLAP!]

Graydon blubbered to the point of screaming, as he was slapped again, this time even harder than the first.

"IF YOU DON'T…"

Graydon's shirt suddenly tore, as Sabretooth shook him violently, and he fell to the floor with a loud bump. He was too frightened, however, to be concerned about being hurt. The second he hit the floor, he got up and raced out the room.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Sabretooth yelled, but Graydon didn't listen, wanting only to run somewhere, anywhere, he would be safe.

Sabretooth didn't run after him, because he would be able to find him anywhere he went, and there was nowhere he could go. They lived in a cabin-house, located on a small farm in the middle of the Canadian countryside, surrounded by mountains. The town was a good several miles away, as was the nearest neighbour.

Sabretooth had bought the place shortly after Graydon had been born. Although he had plenty of money, from his years as a paid mercenary, and could have bought a huge mansion, he had wanted to raise his boy someplace quiet and ideal for the both of them. The farm was located right by the wilderness so he could hunt whenever he wanted, it was well isolated thus ideal to hide out in, with no other people about, and there was plenty of space for them to run about in.

Graydon ran out the room and down the stairs, looking for a good hiding place. He briefly considered his own bedroom, under the bed or in the closest, but his room was right next to his daddy's so he'd see him go in there.

In the end, he decided the cellar was the next best place. His daddy rarely went down there for some reason.

He hurried downstairs, all the way down into the cellar, and quickly found a hiding place under the stairs. He sat underneath them, clutching his knees to his chest, sobbing quietly.

Soon after, he heard him coming. He covered his mouth to stifle his own sobs, watching as his daddy's big feet with the long claws walked down the steps in front of him. His daddy never wore shoes except for when he had to go out into town.

When Sabretooth reached the bottom, he stood still for a moment, sniffing the air, and then turned around and made his way straight over to Graydon. _How had he found him? _

"Think you can run away do ya, boy?" his daddy said, enraged. "Why'd ya run, huh? Only cowards run from their enemies, boy, and I ain't fathered no lily-livered cry-baby!"

Graydon wailed, as he watched him take his belt off and began beating it into his hand.

"I told you before!" Sabretooth swiped at some of the boxes that his son was hiding behind. "STOP THAT CRYING!" He reached out and grabbed what was left of Graydon's shirt.

"No, daddy, please!" he screamed in fright, the tears flooding down his face, as Sabretooth raised his belt up high.

At first, Sabretooth made no sign of listening to him, except for the weak and pitiful tears his own flesh and blood was crying. He raised his belt, getting ready to strike, when…

"I'm sorry. I'll be good, I promise!" Graydon sobbed, holding his arms up in front to protect himself. "_I'll be good_!"

Sabretooth, aka Victor Creed, felt his mind go into overdrive. It was like he was falling, as his son's words, together with the place they were in at the moment, in the cellar, suddenly sent dozens of images flashing in his mind. He saw himself as a child, chained up in the cellar of his old house, crying as his father came down the stairs, brandishing a pair of pliers in his hand.

"_He's some kind of animal! Full of wickedness! That's what it is. But don't you worry, son. Zebadiah Creed knows how to get the wickedness out of you!" _

"_No, please, paw! Not again! __I'll be good_…_I'll be good_..._**I'll be good**__!"_

In that moment, if Graydon had been able to look up, he would have seen an expression on his father's face, which neither he nor anyone else had ever seen, and probably never would again.

The expression he wore was one of fear…painful fear. The fear he had felt as a child when his father had abused him, and the shocking realisation that his son was now in the exact position that he had once been in.

Sabretooth stared down at his son, seeing not the baby he had once been, the one who had had no fear, but a boy gripped by outright terror…_of him_.

When his father's belt didn't come down, Graydon risked himself to lower his arms and look at him. He still didn't get a chance to see his father's face, for in the blink of an eye, Sabretooth suddenly dropped his belt, shot out his arm and pulled him close, wrapping both his arms around him almost protectively.

Graydon gave out some muffled cries, as Sabretooth practically crushed him into his chest. This was a whole new thing to him, as his daddy had never hugged him before. He always said that only women hugged, not men. The only sign of affection he ever gave was when he would press his face against his.

He twisted his face to the side, managing to breathe more easily, but still his daddy wouldn't release him. He briefly considered asking him to let him go, but in the end he decided against it.

Partly it was because he was afraid what he might do. If he asked his father to release him, then he might get angry and decide to pick up where he left off with the belt. And the other reason was… He couldn't recall his daddy ever showing this much affection for him before, even if he couldn't understand the reason why. So he kept quiet.

They remained like that for several minutes, Sabretooth holding him in a fierce bear-hug, until Graydon finally dozed off in his arms. As he fell asleep, he thought he could make out his daddy silently saying "I'll be good," over and over.

When he next opened his eyes, he was in bed, all tucked in.

It was now nighttime, but curious about where his father was he went downstairs. However, he couldn't find him anywhere.

He looked all over the house, and had even tried going into the cellar, only to find it locked and bolted. There seemed to be some new locks placed on it for some reason. So he went into the living room, and sat on the couch to wait.

After a few hours, Sabretooth returned, coming back from what appeared to be a hunting trip, judging by all the blood he had on his claws. It must have been a pretty big hunt considering the shape he was in. But however bad he looked, Graydon knew that whatever he had been hunting had to be in even worse shape.

"Daddy!" he said excitedly, running up to try and hug him again, but Sabretooth just held out his arm, keeping him away.

"Keep back," was all he said, lowly, and walked past him.

Graydon said nothing at first, but watched as he went into the kitchen to wash himself up. He came back in a few minutes later, dressed only in his boxers after throwing what was left of his clothes in the bin, and a cold beer in his hand.

He sat down on the couch, opening the beer and taking a swig.

Once he sat down, Graydon tried to get close to him again. In an attempt to try and recreate the closeness that had happened only hours ago, he sat down on the couch, and began edging slowly towards him.

The second he got within a metre of him, though, Sabretooth shot out his arm and pushed him to the floor.

"Don't…touch…me!" he said warningly, ignoring his son's cries. He hadn't hit him, but to Graydon his push had hurt way more than any punch or slap could have done.

"Get to bed," he told him, his voice a hiss.

Graydon didn't reply, but merely did as he was told, as he got up and made his way to the stairs.

"Graydon!" his daddy suddenly said.

He looked back, but his daddy wasn't even looking at him. He was still sitting on the couch, his beer still in his hand, looking at the blank screen of the TV.

"Tomorrow, I'm gonna be showing you how to use the gun, okay," he told him. "I figure I'd better at least show you how not to blow your own brains out."

Graydon's tears dried a little, but he did not smile. "Thank you, daddy."

He grumbled, taking another swig of his beer.

Just as Graydon was about to carry on back upstairs, Sabretooth spoke again. "One last thing, boy… From now on, I want you to stay away from the cellar, all right? Don't even try opening it."

"Why?"

"Don't matter! Just do what I say, all right?"

Graydon swallowed and nodded, before remembering that his daddy wasn't looking at him and thus couldn't see him nod. "Yes, sir," he replied.

He waited another minute or two, in case his father wanted to say anything else, but when he didn't, he slowly made his way back upstairs to bed.

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His father never spoke about that day, about what had unsettled him or why he had held him that way, and Graydon had been glad to forget about it…or at least most of it.

He remembered the next morning when he had come downstairs, and his father had just acted like nothing had happened. He had been busy burning bacon and frying eggs, taking time only to give him his usual sniff good morning, and then telling him to sit his butt down and have his breakfast. Afterwards, he had taken him outside with that gun, and started showing him on how to use it.

He had had mixed feelings about that morning. On the one hand he had enjoyed spending some time with his dad, and having him teach him something. On the other hand, though, he had still been feeling pretty rattled from his experience with the gun, and would have been happier if he had never seen the thing again. He still couldn't bring himself to even go near it.

Although he was glad his dad hadn't been angry any longer, he had always held onto the memory in the cellar. It was one of the few times when his father had shown any true feelings for him.

It wasn't, however, the last.

There had been other times when his father had shown kindness towards him. But those had been times that he could have done well without.

One of them had been when he had first started school…

**To Be Continued…**


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: **

_**I do not own any of Marvel's characters. This isn't for profit, but fun! **_

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**Creed Farm: **

Graydon tested the water in the bath, making sure it was as hot as his dad liked it. He liked it scalding, claiming it was good for the skin and getting the _blood_ rushing.

Sometimes, he reckoned his dad was too obsessed with blood, or at least the word of it.

"That tub ready yet?" his dad shouted up.

"Just a minute!" he shouted back, waiting for the tub to fill. He had often run a bath for him, particularly when he came back from a hunt or a business trip. Usually his dad came back dirty or bloody (or both), or he just liked a bath to relax in.

He still didn't know the full details of his dad's business trips, but he had a sneaking suspicion. He had had it ever since he was about five…

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**Seven Years Ago**

Graydon struggled to carry a log, as he heaved it across the farmyard. It was only a small one, but very thick, and too heavy for a five year old. His daddy, however, had told him right out that it would help build his muscles, and that was that.

Sabretooth was even now chopping the logs he had cut down the previous day, for firewood, as he brought the large axe down in a single stroke. He was bare-chested, wearing only a pair of torn jeans and no shoes. His body had a glimmer of sweat on it, but that was undoubtedly from the sunny weather they were having that day.

Sabretooth had been working non-stop since dawn, it was already past noon, and he had yet to show any signs of fatigue.

Graydon couldn't help but stare at his daddy, wondering if he would be as big as him someday. He was so tall, with muscles that were beyond massive, and when he picked him up, it was like being carried by a walking mountain.

Just then, Graydon heard a familiar sound. He turned, and saw a most curious sight…or at least curious to him. It was a car.

No one had ever come to their home before, so who could this be? The only car Graydon had ever seen was his daddy's old one, which he kept in the barn. Sabretooth had bought it at the same time he had bought the farm, and only used it rarely, whenever he had to go into town for something. Most of the time, it just sat unused in the barn, collecting dust.

"Graydon, get inside," his daddy told him calmly, but with an edge to his voice.

"Aw, can't I stay and see who…" he stopped at the hard look he was giving him.

"Get…in!" Sabretooth repeated, his eyes thinned at him, and Graydon hurried inside.

Before he ran through the front door, he risked another look, staring back at the approaching vehicle, a big blue car. He could make out the silhouette of what appeared to be a lady in the front seat. He would have stayed longer to find out more, but not wanting to anger his daddy, he raced inside.

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Sabretooth lowered the axe to his side, but didn't let go of it. You never know when a weapon like that could prove handy after all. He stood where he was, his arms crossed, as the blue car pulled up into his yard.

The driver turned out to be a fairly attractive woman in her mid to late twenties, with brown hair done up in a bob on top of her head, thin-rimmed glasses on her straight nose, enlarging a set of green eyes that were even now staring at him.

He smirked, as she didn't take her flustered sights off him while she got out of her car. Clearly she either hadn't had much contact with mutants before, or she was a bit of a prude when it came to half-naked men.

'Good thing she weren't here when I was hunting that bear last week,' he thought to himself, almost sniggering. A rogue bear had wandered into his land, made a mess of his garbage cans, and he had taken it down. Beast had been big, but he had pummelled it in the end, though it had cost him another set of clothes, which had all been completely shredded in the process.

Lucky they didn't have neighbours to contend with; otherwise he'd be facing charges of indecent exposure by now.

"Mr…Creed?" the woman called out to him. "Victor Creed?"

He shrugged. "That's what it says on the mail."

"I'm Miss Veronica Jenkins from Social Services," she introduced herself, as she came over with her hand stretched out.

His eyes lowered to her hand disdainfully, as though she had just revealed herself to be a Nazi…which wasn't all that far off, as far as he was concerned. "My sympathy," he said, turning around, about to go back to work.

The woman, identified as Miss Jenkins, took no notice of his brash behaviour and obvious dismissal of her, and continued on as if he hadn't spoken. "I am sorry to drop in unannounced, but I am here concerning your son, one Graydon Creed, aged five?"

He spun back around, his eyes flaring dangerously at her. "If you're here to take my boy…" he began.

"No, of course not," Veronica fumed. Why was it that whenever she paid someone a visit, they immediately thought she was there to take their kids away? "I am only here because you have yet to sign up your son for school, and he is already past the age when he should have started."

He snorted. "School? What reason would I have for sending him there?"

The woman stared at him in what looked like disbelief. "Are you…" she paused. She was about to ask him if he were mad, but somehow she felt that saying that to a man like this would not be smart. She had been informed that he was a mutant, but even so, the size of him was enough to make her hesitate. "Sir, every child deserves to have the same chances in life as all others. At school, he would be…"

"You're boring me," he said, placing another log on the stump and slicing it with one whack from with the axe.

After taking a moment to marvel over the man's impressive strength, she quickly collected herself. "Mr. Creed," she said in an authoritative manner. "Don't you want your son to be raised with the same benefits as all other children, to receive a good education, to meet and mingle with children his own age and…?"

"You're still not selling me anything, lady," he told her, putting his third log up. "I never went to school, and I got by fine. Better than fine in fact. My boy will learn everything he needs to know right here with me."

She sighed. "Mr. Creed, Graydon is required by law at attend school, the same as everyone else, unless he is home schooled, which I assume he is not?"

"I just told you I was teaching him, didn't I?" he snapped.

"And are you a qualified teacher or home tutor?" she countered impassively.

He frowned. This bitch was really starting to get on his nerves!

"Because if not, and if you cannot provide one for him, then he has to go to school. Otherwise…"

Sabretooth started to feel his eyes flaring. "Watch your words carefully, lady!" he said in a low hiss. "Graydon is my boy, remember that!"

She stuttered for a few moments, obviously not liking the dark look he was giving her. "I-I-I'm only reciting the law to you, Mr. Creed. Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not is entirely up to you. But frankly it would be far less trouble for you."

He frowned again. He could always hire a private tutor for Graydon, as he had more than enough money. Unfortunately, that would mean having someone coming by the house practically every day, and he had no desire for some stranger to set foot on his property. He had bought this place solely for its isolation from everyone, wanting to bring up Graydon without the hassle of anyone else interfering.

'How did the fuckin' social services even know about him?' he wondered, since he had never registered Graydon at school or the doctors or anything. There had never been any need.

"Mr. Creed?" Miss Jenkins repeated.

He snarled. "Fine! I'll get him to school."

She nodded. "I will be checking back in about a week to see how…"

"Hang on!" he barked. "What's this about you coming back here? I don't need some pencil-neck social worker getting up in my business!"

She raised her nose. "I am here strictly in regards for the good of your son. As soon as I am certain he is being well provided for, I will…"

"Are you saying I don't know how to take care of my own blood?" he hissed, his eyes once more glowing with hate.

'If the shoe fits', Jenkins thought, but was sensible enough not to say it aloud. "It is merely a precaution," she added. "The school has already been informed. You only have to contact them to finalise everything. They will tell you everything you need to know."

With that, she turned and was about to start making her way back to her car, only to stop and turn back to him. "One more thing, Mr. Creed," she added. "A word of advice; I suggest changing into some more appropriate attire. With this sun, it would not do to be out in your present…_garments_." She turned her nose up slightly at the word _garments_.

She was, of course, referring to his lack of a shirt and shoes, which was a shameless display of indecency if ever there was one. But, also, exposure like that could sometimes lead to sunburn, and walking outside without shoes was never a good idea, not to mention what bad habits it may start a child on.

Sabretooth stared at her for a second, before smirking. "You know what," he said. "You're _absolutely_ right!"

She smiled, happy he was listening to her at last, only to stop when she saw him unbuckling his trousers. She squeaked in shock, as he dropped his pants to his feet and stepped out of them, completely naked.

"Ahhh!" he sighed in content, stretching all his muscles in front of her. "That's _much_ better! I can feel the breeze more!"

She squeaked again, and then hurried back to her car, a few moments later speeding down his road and out of sight.

Sabretooth had watched her leave, very much tempted to leap after her and start ripping her throat out with his fangs. But he couldn't do that…at least not when there was a chance that some people might know she had been out here, and inform the cops. He didn't need the publicity.

"Graydon!" he shouted out, grabbing his pants and putting them back on. "Get your shoes on! We're going shopping for some school stuff!"

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**Four Days Later; School:**

Graydon checked the hallways of the school, as he tried figuring out where he was supposed to go.

Most kids his age would have had their parents with them on their first day of school, to see the principal or at least ensure they were looked after. But not Graydon… His dad had dropped him off at the school-gates and then sped off, not wanting to stay in town any longer than he had to be. He had told him that he would be there to pick him up later, and that was it.

In a way, it had been better this way. His dad's appearance in town had certainly turned more than a few heads, as they had all stared at the town's only mutant. Many were not pleased at having to share their town with what they considered a freak or unnatural…_thing_.

He hesitantly walked down the hallways, nervous and scared. There were signs posted on the walls, but they were no good to him because he couldn't read yet.

'Where is the Principal's office?' he thought.

He turned the corner, and walked smack into three other boys, all of them about 10-11 years old. The biggest one looked down unkindly at him. He had long brown hair, freckled skin and a nasty sneer on his face.

"What the heck you doin here, kid?" he all but demanded. "This area is for third to seventh graders."

He blinked a little at the older boy's brusque attitude, but didn't back down. After all, he was used to such an attitude from his daddy who was a hundred times this boy's size, and a whole lot meaner looking. Compared to him, this boy was like a mouse trying to be a lion.

"I'm lost," he replied. "I'm looking for the principal's office?"

The boy glared down at him. Clearly he was not used to boys not being afraid of him. "Who are you?" he finally asked.

"Graydon Creed," he answered, though wishing he would just tell him where to find the Principal and leave.

"Creed?" one of the other boys suddenly said. He was the same age, a bit smaller, with dirty blonde hair and tanned skin. "Isn't that the name of the mutie that lives outta town?"

The first boy's eyes widened a little. "That true, kid?" he suddenly asked, seemingly interested.

Graydon frowned, wondering what a _mutie_ was. "I don't know," he said honestly. "What's a mutie?"

The boys sniggered. "Don't you know nothing?" the first of them asked. "Muties are freaks, monsters."

Graydon still didn't understand and so said nothing.

"Look, is your old man the big blonde guy with the claws that I saw this morning?" the third boy, the same as the second but with brown hair like the first, said.

Graydon nodded, happy about being able to answer one question at least.

"Well, that answers it then."

"My dad says you and your kind got no place here, freak-boy!" the second remarked. "You and your dad are nothing but stains on the rest of humanity!"

"Wh-what's humanity?" he asked, uneasy at the hateful glares they were now throwing at him.

"Hold it, guys," the first suddenly interjected. Looking down on him, he smiled pleasantly. "What did you say your name was again, kid?"

"Graydon Creed," he repeated, happy this boy was not glaring at him like the others were.

"Hmmm, and you're new here, right?"

At Graydon's nod, he smiled again. "Well, Graydon. It's an old school tradition that all new kids here get a present for their first day of school."

"Really?" he looked up at him, his eyes shining. "A present for me?"

"Yes indeed. You'll have to come collect your present yourself though. Think you can do that?"

Graydon nodded eagerly, wondering what kind of present he was getting. "Where do I go?" he asked.

"Come see us after school. We'll meet by the school-shed in the playground. You'll see it during recess. Okay?"

He nodded again, and was about to ask what kind of present he was getting, when some heavy footsteps suddenly sounded from down the hallway.

"Tommy Pierce, Hayden Atkins, Peter Stokes!" a loud stern voice said. "What are you three doing out of class?"

The boys stood to attention. "We were just on our way back from the bathroom when we met this kid, Principal Dale. He's new here and didn't know where to go."

The man, who was obviously Principal Dale, glanced down at Graydon, eyeing him suspiciously. After a few long moments, he finally spoke again. "All right, you three get to class now."

The boys quickly raced off down the corridor, leaving Graydon alone with the principal. He wasn't anywhere near as big as his daddy, but he was tall, with a bald head and thin set eyes.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Graydon Creed," he replied, repeating his answer for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Creed?" Principal Dale said slowly.

"Yes, sir."

"Ah yes. You're the son of the mu…I mean…the farmer from out of town, as I recall. Well, come with me this way, and we'll get you settled."

He held out his hand, which Graydon took hold of and allowed the tall man to lead him down the hallway to one of the classrooms.

Maybe school wasn't going to be so bad after all. He had only been here a short while and already he had made three new friends, and he was getting a present just for being there.

He thought more about what his new friends were going to give him, and found himself growing earnest with excitement. He couldn't wait to find out what his present was going to be!

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Sabretooth, or just plain old Victor Creed as he was known for the moment, sat growling in frustration in his car, waiting at the gates of the school.

"Fuck's sake!" he snarled. "Where the hell is he?"

Most of the rest of the kids had already gone home for the day, but still there was no sign of Graydon anywhere.

"If he's run off with some other kids…" he growled. He hated to wait, but more than that he loathed sitting in plain view of a hundred kids and parents walking about the place, casting him curious, surprised and horrified looks. He felt like a freak-show!

Finally, sick of waiting, he gave one last growl of frustration and got out the car, preparing to go look for him. The remaining kids and their folks all gave him long stares as he walked passed them. They had all seen him in the car, but he was a lot more imposing standing up.

Creed sniffed at the area around him, picking out each of the hundreds of different scents from various other kids until he found the one he was looking for. Once he got wind of it, he began tracking it inside the school. He followed it to various places, from one of the classrooms to the school lunchroom, and then outside to the playground.

As he was exiting the main building, he noticed three boys running across the playground. They had just reached the main gate when he came out, so they didn't notice him, but he paid them no mind. None of them were the kid he was after.

He sniffed again, still tracking Graydon's scent. It was stronger now, meaning he was close by, but… He paused for a second. The scent was still there, but it was now mixed in with something else…the smell of blood.

He followed the scent until it led him to the back of the small shed at the side of the playground. He had just reached the corner of it when he heard a low but unmistakable sobbing.

He turned the corner, and found Graydon lying on the ground behind the shed, sobbing his eyes out.

"What the…?" Creed swore, but stopped when he saw the state his son was in.

Those other boys, who Creed could only assume were the guilty party, had really done a number on Graydon. His left eye was swollen, his lip split and bleeding, and more than a few red bruises were already beginning to darken on his arms and legs.

Creed stood where he was for the moment, looking down on his son, as the boy sat nursing his wounds, crying pitifully. It took him almost a full minute before he realised he wasn't alone.

He looked up, and upon seeing his father standing before him, he cried even harder and ran up to him, despite the pain in his legs. But Creed didn't let him get any closer, as he held out his hand, holding him at bay from him.

"What happened?" was all he said.

Graydon wept pathetically, making Creed growl angrily.

"Stop wailing like a baby and just tell me!" he snarled.

After a few moments, until his tears were more under control, Graydon finally answered. "There were some boys. They said they wanted to give me a present because I was new here. They told me to come here after school, but when I came…" He began weeping again.

Creed growled viciously, making Graydon struggle to stop crying. He may only be five, but he had long since learned that crying before his dad was never a good idea, as his daddy hated sobbing.

"They said something about you," he revealed. At his daddy's curious look, Graydon added. "They said that you were something called a mutie, whatever that means? They said people like us don't belong with regular people. Said we're a danger to descent folks."

Creed snorted at that. Obviously those kids didn't know the meaning of what they were saying. Last time he checked, descent people didn't attack little kids.

"So you let them trick you into coming here at a time when there would be no other people around to help you if you got into trouble," Creed said aloud, looking down on him in what looked like disdain. "Then you let yourself get banged up."

Graydon hung his head, resisting the urge to start crying again. "I…I tried to get away…"

Creed snarled. "YOU SHOULD'VE TRIED HITTING THEM BACK! That would have been at least a start!"

Graydon sniffed, his father staring at him for a few long moments until he finally turned and began walking away.

"Let's go home," he said. "I'm starving."

Graydon limped painfully after him, but after a few steps he stopped, hissing in pain.

His dad must have heard him, as he turned to look at him. "Well?" he said.

He whimpered a little. "Please," he said. "I ca…" He didn't finish, as his father then strode up towards him, and knelt down to his face, glaring intensely at him.

"You've learned two important lessons today, my boy," he whispered dangerously. "First rule, never trust anyone! Second…never _ever_ beg…especially to _me_!"

Graydon shivered at the insane look he was giving him. He had never seen his daddy so incensed before, as he locked stares with him.

After a few more moments, his father finally stood up again and turned around, preparing to walk on. Graydon valiantly tried to prepare himself for the long walk to the car, as he tested his weight on his feet, hissing again painfully.

He took a few timid steps, but no more than that when his father's shadow once more engulfed him, and he felt himself being swooped up into his daddy's grip, as Creed reached out his one arm and scooped him up. Graydon yelped a little, as he was tucked under his daddy's arm and carried off across the playground.

"I'll be waiting here until doomsday for you," he heard his dad say, as he fumed his irritation. "And stop moaning about the hurting. Ain't nothing like a little pain to make a man feel alive!"

Graydon said nothing, as he was carried off; still moaning from what the jostling was doing to his bruises. So much so that he didn't notice the way his dad sniffed keenly at him, taking in deep breaths of his scent and those around and on him.

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**Next Night: **

The next day had been slightly better. After the attack, Graydon had had to return to school since his daddy refused to let him stay at home hiding from his enemies like a coward.

When he had shown up at school, everyone had been horrified to see the state he was in. All of the teachers had demanded to know who was responsible… Well, to be more exact, they had at first asked him what his _father_ had done to him. For some reason, they thought he was to blame for his injuries, and it had taken him ages to convince them otherwise. Once he had, they started asking questions about who it was that had hurt him, but he told them nothing.

After what happened with his daddy, Graydon didn't want to risk any more people calling him a wimp or getting angry. But more importantly, he had seen the boys hanging around in the playground near him, looking at him with stern looks on their faces. He didn't like to think what they would do to him if he got them into trouble, so all he had said was that some boys had bullied him, but he didn't know who they had been.

It was clear the teachers didn't believe him, and they warned that unless he told them everything then they couldn't help him. But Graydon still didn't say anything.

He kept close to the teachers all through the day, as he knew the bullies wouldn't try anything with them around. The day past slowly, but eventually it came to an end. He had been worried that they would be waiting for him by the gate, but luckily his daddy was there.

"Any problems?" he had asked, to which he had simply shrugged, refusing to say anything, and his daddy didn't press the matter, but he did keep glancing behind Graydon's back at something.

He had risked a peek, and found the bullies walking far behind him. Without trying to make it seem as though he were running, he hurried ahead to his dad's car, his daddy behind him.

Later during the night, they had a phone-call, and judging by the way his daddy started shouting into the phone, he guessed it had to be Miss Jenkins. For some reason, he really didn't like that woman, although he had mentioned once she had a nice scent…whatever that meant.

After the call ended, his daddy had told him to go to bed, despite it being so early, but he had been adamant, so Graydon had begrudgingly went upstairs.

That had been several hours ago now, and Graydon was now lying half-awake in his bed. He had woken up to the sound of a car coming from outside. He didn't know what time it was, as he couldn't tell time yet, but it was still pitch black outside, and his daddy never got up before the sun rose.

Curiously, he got up and went to see what was going on. Walking across his room, he came up to his window and peeked outside.

Sure enough, there was his daddy outside, getting out of his car. Graydon blinked in surprise, wondering why he was up so late…or so early, depending on what time it was. He watched him as he moved to the trunk of his car, opening it and grabbing something from inside.

It was too dark for Graydon to see clearly, so he couldn't see what it was, but his daddy carried it out of the car and over to the barn. After a few minutes, when he didn't come back out again, Graydon grew tired and went back to bed.

He lay back on his bed, yawning as he drifted off back to sleep. One moment he was closing his eyes, the next he was awake again, listening to the sound of running water coming from the bathroom across the hallway.

It was still dark outside, so not a lot of time could have passed since his daddy's return. He got up again and crept out of his room, towards the bathroom door, which was slightly ajar, and peeked inside. His daddy was inside, of course, bent over the sink, naked and washing his hands.

Graydon was long since used to seeing his daddy de-clothed, as Sabretooth often returned home naked after going hunting. Sometimes, he wouldn't even bother wearing clothes at all and just went hunting at night in the nude. Graydon often heard howling or roaring in the distance, which could have very well been him.

"What are you doing up?" his daddy's voice suddenly asked, making him jump.

"I…heard you come back in the car," he said hesitantly. "Have you been out?"

Sabretooth didn't bother turning around, and just shrugged his massive shoulders. "Just for a bit," he replied.

"Where you been?"

His daddy paused for a moment, and then chuckled. "Painting the town red!" he said, and laughed.

Graydon never liked it when his daddy laughed. It always sent shivers down him for some reason.

"Well, if you're up then you might as well make yourself useful," Sabretooth added, and tossed Graydon a flannel. "Wash my back for me." He instructed, and knelt down on his knees for him, but kept his back to him.

He did as he was told, moving up to his father and wiping the flannel over his huge back. That's when he noticed the colour his normally golden skin was emitting.

"Red," Graydon simply said, eyeing the red hue coming off his dad's skin. The flannel, which had originally been a pure white, was already a dark pink colour, and getting darker.

His daddy shrugged again. "Told you I'd been painting, remember."

Graydon nodded, and continued scrubbing his dad's back until the flannel was now a dark red. He moved around him to wash the cloth in the sink, but his daddy's hand suddenly stopped him.

"Smell!" his daddy said.

"Huh?" Graydon looked in confusion at him.

Sabretooth held his hand, which looked as if it had been dipped into a red paint tin, to his son's face. "Smell," he repeated, sticking his red covered finger under his boy's nose.

Graydon did as he was told, inhaling the scent. Whatever this was, it didn't smell like the usual paint he had smelled before. It smelled rather like…like the raw meat they kept hanging in the drying house.

"Take note of this smell, and remember," his daddy told him, and then added. "Now taste!"

In his father's eyes, Graydon swore he could see a look of what he could only describe as sheer earnest delight, as he lowered his finger to his mouth.

Not wishing to disobey or anger his daddy, Graydon opened his mouth and allowed him to wipe his finger, smearing the red stuff inside him.

He inwardly grimaced a little. The red paint, if that was what it was, tasted funny. It had a sickly sweet taste with a copper aftermath, like when one sucked on a penny.

"Make sure you never forget this taste, boy," Sabretooth told him, "cos one day, you will come to worship it."

"What is it?"

Sabretooth smiled. "Life and death_, _boy…life and death!"

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The next day was a lot easier for Graydon. He had gone to school, but there had been no sign of the bullies, so he had mercifully been left alone. It was believed they were all off sick.

Graydon didn't care what was wrong with them, so long as they weren't anywhere near him then he was happy.

He had mentioned it to his daddy when he got home that night, but Sabretooth seemingly had no interest, as he had just chewed noisily on his steak.

After dinner, Graydon had been about to go do his afternoon chores by feeding some of the animals in the barn, but his daddy had openly forbid him from doing so. When asked why, all he would say was that he would take care of it.

Graydon had been curious, but since he had gotten out of a chore for once, he had not complained and had spent the afternoon playing.

Several hours later, while he had been in bed, he heard his daddy leave his room and walk across the hallway, stopping at his bedroom door. Graydon had kept his eyes shut, pretending to be asleep, as his dad walked into his room, sniffed at him and stroked his hair.

After a while, his daddy then left, but he didn't go back to his own room. Graydon listened as his footsteps went downstairs, and a few moments later he heard the front door open and shut.

Getting out of bed, he had gone to his window, same as the previous night, and peeked out at his father who even now was heading toward the barn. He watched him as he went inside, and a few minutes later he came back out carrying something.

Graydon thinned his eyes at what his daddy was carrying, recognising it as the same thing from last night, or at least something the same size anyway. It was quite large, but then so was his daddy, and he had no trouble carrying it.

He didn't take the bundle to his car, but then, most curiously, he turned and started making his way towards the woods over the hill.

His first thought was that he was simply going hunting again, but then he wondered what the bundle was for, and what it was.

These questions and a few others went through his mind, as he watched his father's retreating form into the wilderness.

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A whole week passed, and by then the whole town had gone through an uproar. The bullies had still not returned to school, but then again they never would…

They were dead!

The boys' bodies had been found near the edge of the forest, mangled almost beyond recognisation. It was believed they were the victims of a wild animal attack, like a bear or wolf.

The boys' families had been distraught, demanding action or at least an investigation, but nothing about the case suggested that it was anything other than a simple animal attack. The boys must have gone into the woods unsupervised without permission, and had run afoul of one of the native beasts there.

Graydon, on the other hand, couldn't help thinking about where the bodies had been found…less than a few miles from where his home was located. He had once mentioned it to his daddy, to which he had simply replied, "how about that then."

No one seemed to want to talk about it, and in all honesty Graydon was glad about that. It was hard to feel sympathy for three guys who had beaten him senseless after all.

As time passed, eventually the case was dropped, people offered their sympathies and condolences to the families, and soon life began returning to normal.

Well, almost normal…

His daddy still had one problem it seemed, and that was Miss Veronica Jenkins. She had been calling his home regularly, almost every day, especially after Graydon's beating. Despite his insistence that it had been some boys who had done the deed, even if he hadn't revealed their identities, not even now despite their deaths (what would be the point?), everyone kept pestering him about his daddy, asking if he had been hurting him.

Miss Jenkins certainly seemed to be under the impression that he was, and more or less declared it whenever she and he met, insistently asking about Graydon's physical health.

One day, after school, when his daddy drove him home, they had found her waiting for them on the porch of their house.

"What the fuck do you want?" his daddy had demanded, getting out of his car and marching up to her, his claws sheathed, his fangs bared and words coming out in snarls.

Graydon had recognised the tone, knowing that his daddy was at the end of his tether with this woman. He listened to the heated words exchanged between them, both of them all but shouting at each other, until finally his daddy had called him over, telling him to go inside and stay there while he and Miss Jenkins _talked_.

That was the last he ever saw of her.

**To Be Continued…**


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: **

_**I do not own any of Marvel's characters. This isn't for profit, but fun! **_

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"It's ready!" Graydon called down, as he turned the hot-water tap off. A few moments later, he heard his dad's footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Bout time, too!" his dad grumbled, as he walked into the bathroom.

"You're welcome," he muttered quietly, but not silent enough for his dad's inhumanely keen hearing.

"Watch it!" he growled, clipping him smartly around the ear. It didn't really hurt, but it did leave a sharp stinging sensation, and the huge size of Sabretooth's hands and his razor sharp claws didn't help much.

Graydon quickly recovered, though, watching as his father ripped off what was left of his outfit. He hadn't noticed before, what with all the blood and everything, but he now saw the orange hue of the spandex material and realised the garment was his father's business suit. For years, he had been wearing the orange and brown outfit with the fur collar.

'The fight he was in must have been bad,' he thought, 'if it got his favourite suit wrecked.'

Sabretooth was soon naked and thus stepped into the bath. He sighed, seemingly content, as he lowered himself into the hot water.

Graydon took a jug, filled it with water from the tub, and tipped it over his dad's massive back, soaking him more. "What happened?" he asked.

Sabretooth looked at him curiously. "Thought you weren't interested in my work," he pointed out, as Graydon had stopped asking about his work long ago.

Graydon had long suspected what kind of work his father was truly involved in, and had made a pact with himself never to ask. However, his curiosity was too great, as he wondered what could have done such damage to his dad's favourite suit.

"I'm not," he admitted. "I'm just…curious."

His dad eyed him curiously for a few moments, but then leaned his head back against the edge of the tub, enjoying the hot fumes from the water.

When a full ten seconds had passed and he didn't reply, Graydon knew he wouldn't. Sighing, he took the jug again and soaked his dad's head, washing some of the dried blood from his hair, as it turned the water pink.

'When has dad ever lost a match?' he thought, trying hard to think, but couldn't remember a single time. His father was the best fighter there was.

Though his teaching methods left a lot to be desired, as he idly fingered a small scar on his arm…

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**Six Years Ago: **

Six-year-old Graydon sat on the floor of his bedroom, playing with his miniature action-men. He had just been about to have one of them rescue the others from the imaginary wizard he was having curse them with a bad spell, when…

"Graydon!" his father's voice roared right before his bedroom door banged open. "Get your butt downstairs now. We got work to do."

He got up quickly, but looked at him in confusion. "But I already did my chores?"

"You got a new one starting today. Meet me in the yard. Now _get_!"

Graydon raced past him, running down the steps and into the front-yard. A few moments later, his dad came out, dressed only in a black shirt and ripped jeans. He was looking at his son with a hard expression, one that Graydon recognised as him usually being angry. But he couldn't figure out why he should be angry, as he had done nothing wrong today.

"Wha-what's my new chore?" he asked.

His dad crossed his arms. "To beat me," he replied.

"Huh?"

"You have to beat me in a fight," he explained calmly, but with his face still hard-set. "I figure it's high time you start learning how to fight, boy. I would've started you long before now, especially after that joke with those other kids a year back, but you were and still are so weak and puny that I though it best to wait a bit. I'd hoped you'd gain a bit of muscle by now, but no…you're still a little pencil-necked geek. So now's as good a time as any I guess."

Graydon paused, shuddering a little at the memory of those boys. He hadn't thought about them for so long, wanting to forget they had even existed, considering how they had hurt him, and…

_Graydon thinned his eyes at what his daddy was carrying, recognising it as the same thing from last night, or at least something the same size anyway. It was quite large, but then so was his daddy, and he had no trouble carrying it. _

_He didn't take the bundle to his car, but then, most curiously, he turned and started making his way towards the woods over the hill. _

He shuddered more.

"What's up with you?" his dad asked him, frowning. "Got a cold?"

He shook his head. "No, I…"

"All right then, don't waste anymore time!" he said sharply, and then crouched down before him, baring his fangs. "Now…rush me!"

"Huh?" Graydon looked at his dad, perplexed.

Sabretooth snarled. "Run at me and try to throw me off!"

"Oh," he gulped, and did as he was told, running straight at him.

He barely ran a few steps before his dad struck out his hand, grabbing him around the neck and pulling him sharply behind him, where he fell head first into the ground.

Sabretooth snorted with disgust. "Pathetic!"

Graydon choked back the tears threatening to escape from his eyes, as he got up and prepared to rush him again.

He made the same attempt another three times, but each time his father easily dodged him, cuffing him round the ear and sending him sprawling into the dirt. And with each easy defeat, Sabretooth grew more and more angry.

"Stop running about like a scared chicken!" he barked at him. "Look for an opening, check for a blind-spot where I won't be able to spot you coming, then rush!"

Graydon hurried to his feet and immediately ran around his father, trying to get at his back, where he couldn't see him. His father saw him coming, though, and twisted himself to keep his son in his view.

"Move faster!" he ordered.

Graydon pushed his legs as fast as they could go until he finally got behind his dad. He wasted no time then, and instantly threw himself at his dad's back to try and throw him off balance.

Sabretooth, however, merely stepped to the side and held his leg out to trip Graydon up, sending him once more sprawling to the earth.

He spat the dust out of his mouth and prepared to get up again, but didn't get the chance as a large shadow overcame him, followed by a crushing weight on his back.

"OOF!" he wheezed, as he lay pinned to the ground, his father sitting on his back.

"Well, at least you didn't break your neck while falling down," Sabretooth muttered, more to himself than his son. "That would have been just plain embarrassing."

"Daddy, get off!" he pleaded, banging his palms against the ground, his father's huge weight crushing him. He made sure not to use the word "please", as he knew how much his dad detested that word, claiming it was for the weak.

Sabretooth shrugged. "Make me," he simply replied, and crossed his arms, apparently waiting for his son to make a move. This binding move of his seemed a little crude and almost comic, yes, but it was also effective. His boy was well pinned beneath him.

Graydon looked around him, but saw nothing. What the heck could he use to help him? His dad was a giant of muscle, weighed a tonne, while he was now anchored to the ground with nothing to help him. His dad's weight was even now causing him to lose air, making him dizzy.

"Daddy, I can't breathe!" he said desperately, his voice coming out hoarse and in shallow breaths.

All Sabretooth did was give another shrug. "Then I suggest you hurry up and find a way out of this. You'd be surprised how fast you come up with a solution when your life depends on something."

Graydon struggled, scrambling at the dirt like a gopher, but to no avail.

"Quit panicking like a girl!" Sabretooth scorned him. "Look around you, use whatever's available."

But the only problem with that was that there was nothing! Nothing except for the dust and dirt, a couple of rocks and…

Suddenly, Graydon stopped. He dug at some of the rocks near him. Most of them were your typical round stones, but there was one…

Sabretooth stayed sitting where he was, on his son's back. His weight had to be many times too heavy for the small boy, but still he made no move to get off him. He sat, idly clicking his claws.

"If you don't so something soon, you'll suffocate," he said briefly. "Stop whining and…"

A sharp pain suddenly stabbed him in his right buttock. It came so suddenly that even he was surprised, and he half-raised himself on his hunches. This action gave his son the opportunity to quickly roll away until he was well clear of him.

Sabretooth looked down and saw a small stone with a sharp edge on it, poking out of his skin where even now blood was beginning to slowly seep out. He picked at the stone, brushing it off him before turning to his boy.

"You…" he started to say, but then a cloud of dust hit him in the face. Graydon had grabbed a handful of it and thrown it at him. He swore, as the dust got into his eyes, blinding him.

Sabretooth clearly heard his boy get up and start running towards him, and he smelled his scent getting closer. Once again, he easily sidestepped him and then grabbed him by the shoulder, hoisting him up to him. After a few blinks, the dust left his eyes and he found himself staring into his boy's frightened face.

Graydon gulped, as he was lifted up to his dad's face. He expected him to start snarling and swearing at him, threatening all sorts of punishments, but instead…

"HAHAHAHAHAHA!" his dad's laughter boomed at him. "So you do have a little of my blood in ya, after all!"

Graydon started to smile, though uneasily, at his dad's smile, as he dangled from his grasp.

"But next time," his dad added in a low voice, "don't rush me in the front! That might work when you're older, but right now your best bet is to hit a guy from the rear. Hit me behind the knee! That's one of the most sensitive parts on the body, and can easily fold a guy up, giving you the heads-up you need. Understand?"

He nodded.

"Good." He smiled at him. "Now do it!"

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Hours had passed, too many for him to count, but now they seemed to be mercifully finished.

Graydon groaned, as his whole body ached from the various thuds and bangs he had suffered all day.

"Not a bad start," his father remarked, as he walked beside him. "Not great, but…not bad. Not bad at all."

Graydon couldn't help but give a little smile at his dad's praise…or what passed for it.

Sabretooth smiled down at him, his fangs pointing out over his lips. "You did all right, boy," he told him. "But there are still a lot of things we gotta work on. You didn't move faster when I told ya. Ya gotta listen about the moves I told ya. And ya gotta stop repeating your mistakes!"

He nodded. "Yes, daddy."

Sabretooth then reached out and took his boy's arm. "Ya have to learn from yer mistakes, boy. And to do that, you should have something to remind you about them…always." He indicated the scrapes and bruises on and around Graydon's arms. "These'll heal soon enough. So I think we should give you something a little better."

Before he could even think to consider the meaning of his dad's words, he squealed.

"Ouch! Daddy!"

"Quit whining!" Sabretooth told him, as he ran his one claw over Graydon's arm. "Don't start squealing like a girl again, not after you just got me feeling proud on ya!"

Graydon whimpered, but bit his lip as his dad made a long clear slit on his arm. It wasn't deep enough to cause any real damage, but enough to leave a scar, which was what Sabretooth wanted.

"Every time you look at this scar," he said, lifting Graydon's arm to him, "remember why you got it! Remember the mistakes you made today, learn from them, and don't even think about repeating them!"

Graydon slowly nodded, the tears building up in his eyes, but did not cry.

Sabretooth smiled again, bent his head down to his boy's arm, and then licked the wound.

"Mmm," he murmured. "Nothing like kin's blood." He continued licking his arm a few times until the bleeding more or less stopped. "Let it fester for a bit," he ordered. "It'll scar better that way."

With that he turned and made his way back up to the house.

Graydon stood where he was for a few minutes, cradling his arm. It didn't hurt anymore, yet it felt like it was burning from where his dad had licked him.

Keeping quiet, he slowly followed his dad back inside. He was calm and almost cold, as he walked in, but inside…a large part of him wanted nothing more than to grab his dad's tongue, rip it out of his mouth, and then beat him over the head with the nearest plank of wood he could find!

To Be Continued… 


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: **

_**I do not own any of Marvel's characters. This isn't for profit, but fun! **_

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**Creed Farm: **

Graydon poured some more water over his dad in the bathtub. His dad made a low purring sound, as the hot water soothed him, washing the blood off.

Most people would be disconcerted with a scene like this, but Graydon had no such qualms. Besides being long since used to seeing his dad unclothed and bloody, and having done this many times before, he also had no worries about his dad trying anything.

Sabretooth/Victor Creed was a lot of things, but a paedophile wasn't one of them. He had never hurt or touched Graydon like that, and would no doubt massacre anyone who even thought about it. It was one of his few redeeming virtues.

He took a sponge and wiped his dad's shoulders, scrubbing at the bits of dried blood and, what looked like, pieces of flesh still stuck on him. While he rubbed his shoulders, Graydon couldn't help but notice how tight they were.

It wasn't exactly a surprise that his dad was tense, as he had been for most of his life, but one of the few and rare times when he actually at least seemed relaxed was in the bath after a hunt, even if it did only last for a short while. So whatever trouble he had got himself into, had to have been massive for his shoulders to feel like they were in knots.

"Why do we have to go anyway?" he then asked.

Sabretooth's purring stopped, and he just shrugged. "Just feel like it's time for a change, s'all."

"But…"

"Look, you wanna spend the rest of your life here in the middle of nowhere?" his dad suddenly snapped at him.

Graydon hushed, being forever mindful of his dad's temper. "No," he answered truthfully, for secretly he was counting the days when he would turn 18 and he'd be out of here and on his way to college.

"So shut up then! We're on our way out." Sabretooth told him, as he once more settled into the bath, still not relaxing completely, but seemingly enjoying the heat from the water, even though it was now as red as the blood on him.

He didn't bother asking his dad what had happened again, as he knew he would never tell him. He had never asked about his dad's work before, yet his dad kept dropping hints about it. Now, the one time when he finally was interested, his dad wouldn't tell him a single thing! How ironic.

Graydon kept quiet and just poured another jug-full over him. He had to admit that he wouldn't mind moving, as he had long since stopped thinking of this place as home, and more like a prison or worse…a training camp.

His thoughts turned cold, as he remembered some of the training he had endured…

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**Creed Farm; 5 Years Ago:**

Seven-year-old Graydon heaved the last of the slop to the pigs in their troughs, watching as the little trotters practically attacked them, guzzling everything in sight.

The sight reminded him a little of his friend from school, known as Piggy Paul. He wondered if…

"Graydon!" his father's voice called him.

He looked up, as his dad came out of the house carrying two shotguns in his hands. The second he saw them he froze. He had been wary of guns ever since that terrible time when he had been playing with his dad's small handgun that had very nearly blown his head off. Despite his dad having taught him how to use and handle a gun, he had never been comfortable with them.

Not that he would ever tell this to his father. His dad got mad if he tried to carry a bug out of the house instead of just stepping on it, so he shuddered to think what he'd do if he told him he was afraid of guns.

"Yes, dad?" he asked.

Sabretooth tossed him one of the shotguns. Luckily, Graydon caught it and was able to hold on, though secretly he wanted nothing than to drop the scary thing.

"Stop whatever you're doing and come with me." He then gave his son a toothy grin. "We're going hunting!"

Graydon chewed his lower lip. "Um, shouldn't I finish feeding the animals first?"

"It's only the chickens left, and they'll keep. Featherbrains don't know the meaning of time anyway. Come on." Sabretooth pointed in the direction of the woods, urging him on.

He swallowed, but turned and walked behind his dad.

He had only been in the woods once or maybe twice in his whole life. When he did so, his dad had come in after him, literally dragged him back home, yelling at him never to go in without him. He had tried going in because of simple childish curiosity, nothing more. It was only after he started school and they began teaching them about the dangerous animals that lived nearby that he learned why it was dangerous. He had never tried to go in again. It kept him safe from the wild animals…and his father.

Sabretooth, meanwhile, walked ahead of his son, his keen nose sniffing the air for the scent of any nearby wildlife. Normally, he would never use anything as crude as a mere gun, especially when he was hunting. He much preferred going in unclothed, armed only with his claws and fangs, and his nose to guide him.

Unfortunately, his son had none of those capabilities, at least not yet. He knew nothing about genetics, but he did know that most mutants didn't start developing their abilities until they were about ten to twelve years old. Graydon was only seven, so his powers might not emerge for another few years yet.

Because of that, Graydon would have to rely on other cruder means, like guns. _Not_ Sabretooth's first choice for a weapon, but he knew firsthand you had to make do with what you could get.

There! His nose went up, as he smelt the undeniable scent of a doe, a female deer, close by.

"All right, boy, come here," he told him in a hushed tone, grabbing him by his shoulder and pulling him with him. They hurried over to a thick bush, kneeling behind it, hidden from view.

Graydon squirmed, not liking being this close to his father. There had been a time not too long ago when he had wanted nothing more than to be close to his dad, but now…now being this close to him just scared him.

His dad had always made him nervous, though it was mostly because of his general attitude. Since he had grown up looking at his father, his face and form had never really bothered him until recently.

In a way, being at school had ruined him, which was probably why his dad had never wanted him to go in the first place. While he was there, he had listened to stories they told in class about monsters and beasts that went after small children. Some of the kids had even drawn pictures, claiming to have seen a real monster in person. When he had looked at them, he had been horrified to see that all the pictures were of his dad!

And whenever the other kids' parents dropped them off or picked them up at the gates, he couldn't help but notice how different his dad looked, compared to them. Not just by his size, but also the long claws on his hands, and his fangs. No one else had teeth like that. Even his long shaggy hair set him apart from everyone else, as theirs were all thin and neatly combed.

He had also noticed how everyone looked at them. Despite Graydon not looking much like his dad, they would often give him funny looks, as though they were expecting him to start snarling and growling like him.

But that was nothing compared to the looks they gave his dad. They were nothing short of pure disdain and contempt, though he didn't really know why. Was his dad's appearance really a big deal?

Sabretooth then put a finger to his lips, indicating him to be quiet, and pulled him up close to his face, pointing at a stretch of trees in front of them.

It was very rare when he was this close to his father. The last time had been during last winter. They had had heavy snow, so much that their house had practically been buried. The two of them had spent hours shovelling it, only for it to start snowing again once they were finished. Worse yet, their home electrical plant system had shorted out and their boiler froze, so they were without power and heat for the night.

His dad had seemingly been unbothered, as he had started a large fire in the living room, and brought down all the blankets and covers from their rooms upstairs. He said that it would be warmer down there, and that they had to keep close, to share their body-heat. Thus they had spent the night lying next to the fire, with his dad snoring next to him, or sometimes even with his arms wrapped around him.

Graydon hadn't minded. It was again one of the rare times when his dad showed something other than disdain, and actually showed that he cared. Not that he had said anything, of course, except that it was necessary because of the cold, which was true since they would have frozen otherwise.

Sabretooth kept his finger pointed at the trees before them, and soon enough a small doe appeared. It walked ahead for a short while, sniffing around seemingly for food.

"Take the gun," his dad whispered to him in a low tone that reminded Graydon of a snake. "Point, then shoot!"

Graydon felt his breath get stuck in his throat. The gun suddenly felt many times heavier in his arms, the memory of the loud bang the gun he had accidentally fired when he was four sounding in his ears. And that had been a small handgun, and this was a large shotgun, so its sound was bound to be much louder.

But the worst thing he had the most trouble with was with his intended target. The female deer had not even noticed him, as it silently grazed the ground, cautiously chewing at the bits of green and broken bark there.

"What are you waiting for?" his dad hissed. "Shoot!"

He shivered, as he allowed his dad to help him aim the gun at the doe. He knew with his dad's keen eyesight there was little or no chance of him missing. The poor deer had no chance.

"Shoot now!" his dad's voice was starting to get angry, which frightened him more than the gun.

Graydon breathed deeply, as he took aim and prepared to pull the trigger.

Just then, the deer looked up. It didn't seem to notice them just yet, as it wasn't looking in their direction, but it must have heard something.

'I'm sorry,' he thought, and pulled the trigger.

Right at that moment, the deer seemed to spot him, as it looked right at him, and at the last moment Graydon snapped the gun to the side as he fired, the bullet missing the beast by a mile. The bang of the gun had been even louder than Graydon thought it would, and it was more than enough to scare the poor doe to fleeing for her life.

"What's the matter with you?" his dad roared, grabbing him by his short and shaking him so hard that he felt like he was in an earthquake. "Why'd you let it go?"

Graydon whimpered in fear, but didn't take his eyes from his dads. Another thing his dad had always told him was to never look away. "I…I couldn't do it," he admitted, speaking as if in shame. "I couldn't kill it."

His dad looked at him as if he had just said he wanted to join the Nazis. "_What_?" he hissed at him.

He cringed beneath his father's glare. "Dad, pl…" he stopped himself just in time before he uttered the dreaded word his father so despised. "We already have enough food in the house, and the poor thing was just looking for food itself. We didn't need to kill it."

Sabretooth glared at his son, his fangs bared as though he were getting ready to rip him apart. "So you think we should only hunt something if we need to, huh?" he finally spoke, asking him a question.

He nodded slowly.

His dad thinned his eyes at him. "I suppose I can respect that."

Graydon was just about to emit a sigh of relief, when his dad suddenly turned around and raced off. "Wait there!" he instructed, not pausing as he ran off.

The second he was gone, Graydon felt a cold dread beginning to overwhelm him. The way it always did whenever his dad told him to do something. It usually involved something not good.

Several minutes past, during which he had sat down on a tree-stump, idly counting them until his dad returned. When a further minute passed, he did…

[SLAM!]

Graydon jumped in surprise, as something was dropped before him. Despite his huge size, his father was remarkably stealthy, as he came up to him virtually undetected.

He was about to ask him where he had been, when he noticed what it was his dad had brought with him.

"Ohhh," he moaned, as he looked down at the doe he had only moments earlier let go free. The poor beast's legs were bound and tied up. He thought for a moment that it was dead, but then it twisted its head to the side, startling him, as it thrashed about, trying in vain to escape.

"Dad, wha…?" he started to ask, but his dad ignored him as he knelt down to the creature's side, and with one claw he began to...slowly slit its belly.

"Dad, stop!" he cried out, about to rush up to try and stop him, but a loud and sharp snarl from him soon changed his mind.

"You don't wanna hunt, fine," Sabretooth told him. "But don't go stopping me from having my _fun_."

The small slit he was carving into the doe's skin was not life threatening, but it was clearly causing the poor thing immense pain, as it kicked its bound legs, wailing its deer-scream.

"Dad, no," Graydon tried his best to appeal to his father without making it sound like he was pleading, although that was the one thing he wanted nothing more to do. "You're hurting it."

Sabretooth shrugged. "Pain's a part of life, boy. You already know that, and if you don't then rest assured it'll be reminding you before long." He slid his claw in a pattern back up the doe's belly, slowly making his way up to its neck. "If you don't kill this thing then someone else will eventually. Someone who may _not_ like to kill things quickly and painlessly."

He smiled nastily, as he continued with his torture of the doe. By now, its cries had become frantic, as it wailed louder and louder.

"Dad, let it go! We don't…" He didn't finish, as his dad had then plunged one of his fingers into the doe's belly. When he pulled it back, blood squirted out of its wound, Sabretooth just stuck his finger in his mouth, tasting the beast's blood on it.

"Mmmm," his dad crooned. "Tasty!"

Graydon felt tears running down his face, but for once didn't care to hide them from him. "Just let it go… Why can't you just let it go?"

Sabretooth shrugged. "Can't do that now, boy. Even if I did, the beast is hurt too badly to survive. It'll slowly bleed to death, and don't think for one second that its death will be peaceful. It'll be in complete agony for hours to come."

Graydon wept. "Why?"

"I told you…its nature's way. Only the strong survive by preying on the weak. If we find something that is either food or an enemy, we kill it, no questions asked. And, like I said, if you don't, then rest assure someone else will eventually. Someone who may not be as considerate as we. But at least with us, or namely you, we can assure it a quick and merciful end." He smiled. "But, of course, that's all up to you."

He got up and walked over to where Graydon's discarded gun was lying, picked it up and handed it to him. "It's up to you, boy. Kill it, don't kill it. Don't matter to me no more. Let it live in agony for the rest of its short life, or put an end to its misery."

Graydon looked at the gun for a minute before raising his head to look straight into his father's eyes. "I hate you," he said in a low whisper, startling himself with his bravery for speaking so to his father.

Sabretooth just chuckled. "Good. Feed that hate; treat it like a lover, cos it can give you all the power you can ever want." After that, he dropped the gun into his son's hand, and then simply walked away.

Graydon watched him leave for a few minutes, before turning back to the deer. It had stopped thrashing about finally, but it was still crying out in pain.

His eyes met the animal's own, and he swore he could see tears in them.

Not even bothering to listen to his thoughts anymore, he pointed the gun at the beast…and pulled the trigger.

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Sabretooth sat on his couch, drinking a can of iced beer. It had been an hour since he had left Graydon alone in the forest, and he was starting to wonder if maybe he should go look for him, when the front door opened. It was silent to ordinary human ears, but not to Sabretooth's keen hearing. He turned and saw his son come in.

"So, we having deer for dinner tonight, or did you just give it a funeral?" he half-mocked. He knew the animal was dead, as he could smell the blood of its death all over his son.

His boy spared him a glance. "If you're hungry then the doe is right where you left it at. Go get it." And with that, he went upstairs.

Sabretooth stared at his son in almost disbelief for a few moments, before he finally broke out in roaring laughter.

"Atta boy!" he chuckled.

**To Be Continued…**


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: **

_**I do not own any of Marvel's characters. This isn't for profit, but fun! **_

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**Creed Farm: **

Sabretooth stepped out of the bath, rubbing himself down with the towel his son had handed him. "You got your things ready?" he asked him.

Graydon shrugged. "Almost," he replied.

Sabretooth paused to give him a heated glare. "Go. Get. Packed. _Now_!" he told him.

His son sighed and left the room, resigned to his fate. "Yes, sir."

The moment he left, Sabretooth hurried to finish drying himself. That bastard would be coming soon, as he knew he would! It was his own fault…He should never have attacked him once he learned how close he was to his home. He should have realised that he would track him down.

Ever since that business with his girlfriend, the guy had been hunting him non-stop! Not that he had minded, as he had enjoyed the exercise. But, of course, he had never had to worry about him tracking him to his house before. All the other times, he had gone for him when he was miles away from his home, just as he had expected to do this year, and even if he hadn't then he had always taken care he would be somewhere he couldn't reach him.

But something unexpected had happened this year. He had left home, fully intending to track down his quarry and embark on his own special annual tradition, only to be wholly surprised when his intended target turned out to be only a few miles away. He hadn't even worked his way through a quarter of his first tank-full of gas.

He could only guess that the runt had been tracking him. Damn it! He knew it had been a mistake the day he had taken Graydon to school! The entire town now knew of him and his face, so it had only been a matter of time before he was found.

After they had finished their usual punch-up (a glorious one it was, too) Sabretooth had hurried home. He knew the runt would come after him, as he always did. Only this time he would be able to find him. Only an idiot wouldn't be able to!

As he finished drying, he briefly considered why he had even bothered to come back at all. Why didn't he just leave when he had the chance? The runt would be better prepared for him the next time, and they had both had ample time to recover from their wounds.

He listened to the sounds of his son, as he was busy packing his things. Why didn't he just cut his ties with the pup and leave?

The second he thought that he growled… No, Graydon was his! His flesh, his blood, all his! He hadn't spent all these years raising the brat just to let him go now.

He'd kill him before he let him go!

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Graydon packed a few of his clothes into his rucksack. He didn't know how much he was allowed to bring with him, but judging by how fast his dad wanted them to leave, he doubted it would be a lot.

It didn't matter, he supposed. It wasn't like there was a lot he would be leaving behind. He barely had any friends, as no one wanted to be friends with the son of the _mutie_. All of his memories of this place were of his dad giving him _lessons_ on how he saw life.

He paused, reflecting back on those lessons. A lot of them were pretty basic, with the odd few that would give Captain America nightmares.

He thought back on his last great lesson. His dad had told him it would be one of the most important things he ever had to learn in his whole life. Survival…

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**Two Years Ago: **

It was well past midnight, and 10-year-old Graydon Creed lay fast asleep in his bed. He had gone to bed at his usual time of 8PM, snoring almost the minute his head had touched the pillow.

Although a lot of kids would say that 8PM was far too early for bed and would often argue with their parents to stay up later, Graydon had never done nor would he ever do such a thing. For the two simplest reasons…one, he would never be brave enough or foolish enough to argue with his dad, and two, with all the work and training that his dad gave him in fighting and exercising, not to mention his chores, he was well exhausted by the end of each day.

Every day his father seemed to push him further and further until his body was almost at breaking point. He had done so ever since he was about six, though the benefits from it were rewarding enough. He couldn't remember much about what he had been like before, but the years of his training had pushed his body to the limits, giving him a fine physique for a ten year old.

Despite not being in his teens yet, he already had the muscles of a well-developed teenager, and all the training he had had in all manner of fighting skills had given him a large advantage over all the other kids at school. He still remembered those kids who had…

Graydon moaned in his sleep. Even in his dream state, he hated to think about those boys. They had been the first ones to truly hurt him, yet at the same time they had taught him two of life's most valuable lessons, which his dad had since drilled into him… Never trust anyone, and be stronger than those around you!

So he had trained until he almost, and sometimes literally, bled. The result had given him a strong body, and every time when someone crossed him, he made sure to let them know their place by beating them senseless.

At the moment, his dad had him lifting heavy pieces of wood on each arm till he felt like they could break (he wouldn't be surprised if he was planning to have him lift a log anytime soon). As well as running whole laps around their property, which was practically most of the countryside, and learning a number of fighting techniques, from boxing to martial arts.

With all the training his dad put him through, and how far he pushed him, he didn't think there was anything else he could do to him.

He was wrong.

The door to his bedroom banged open, waking him up instantly. "Huh?" he murmured, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Okay, boy," his dad's hard voice spoke. "It's time for a little lesson in survival!"

Graydon blinked, as his dad pulled the blankets off his bed, and then reached for him, grabbing him by his pyjama shirt and pulling him up to him, tucking him under his arm.

"Dad?" he asked. "Wha…?"

Sabretooth said nothing, but carried him out of his room and down the stairs. He soon reached the front door, grabbing the knob and twisting it open…

The freezing weather hit him like a slap to the face, together with the snowflakes that blew in with the wind. It had obviously snowed while he had been asleep, and there was already a thick layer of it outside.

"Dad, what are you doing?" he shouted, struggling to get out of his dad's grip. "I haven't got my clothes on! I don't even have my slippers or my night-robe!"

His dad paid him no heed, as he walked out through the front door into the snow.

Graydon shivered uncontrollably, as the ice-cold weather froze him to the bone. He tried to feed off the warmth from his dad's body, though it was hard to do so while being dangled under his arm like a tree-log.

His dad tramped through the snow for several minutes. Graydon had long since stopped asking him what he was doing, and just tried his best to stay warm, however difficult that maybe.

Despite the thick layer of snow, and the fact his dad was barely clothed as well, his dad moved quite well through it, being used to this type of weather, and Graydon suspected his mutant abilities had some hand in it as well. They soon reached the row of trees that led off into the wilderness, but still his dad didn't stop. He carried on for another few minutes, heading deep into the woods.

Graydon shivered, this time not from the cold but from his own fear. In the distance, he could make out the howls of wolves…or was it the wind? He couldn't tell. For all he knew at that moment, it could have been a pack of bears.

Finally, just when he thought they would never stop, his dad apparently reached his heading.

He tried to turn his head around to see where they were, but it proved impossible, given his father's size and the way he was holding him. However, it turned out he didn't have long to wait.

Sabretooth dropped him on the ground, holding him steady with his giant hands on his small shoulders. Graydon didn't like the way he was looking at him, that ever so stern look forever in his eyes.

He moaned, as he stood barefoot in the snow, the cold biting into his toes, already making them numb. "Dad," he said pitifully. "What are we doing out here? It's freezing."

"I told you," he simply replied, "life lesson." With that, he released one of his shoulders while keeping a hand on the other, and started dragging him with him.

Graydon then got a good look of where they were. It was a small clearing with nothing much but a few trees. He didn't recognise it.

"Dad, wha…" he started to say, but his dad cut him off by flinging him to one of the trees. He then reached down and snapped up a piece of rope that he must have either brought with him or had left there purposely. He tied one end to Graydon's left arm, circled the rope around the tree, and then began tying it to his right arm.

"Dad!" he cried out, as he realised what he was doing. "Dad, stop!"

Sabretooth took no notice of his cries, and tightened the rope, securing him to the tree. "Can you get out of that?" he asked, looking at him.

Graydon didn't respond and just tried to break free, but the rope was too tight. When he tried moving one of his arms, the rope just pulled his other one around the tree. He couldn't even move either of them anywhere but a few inches in front of him.

His dad smiled. "I'll take that as a no. Good." With that, he suddenly pressed one of his claws into his son's arm, making him wince in pain.

"Ouch!" Graydon hissed, biting his lip to keep himself from squealing, as he knew his dad hated that. He watched as blood started to emit from the small wound. "What was that for?"

Sabretooth just continued to smile. "To give you some incentive," he told him.

"Incentive for what?" Graydon asked, his uneasiness growing by the second.

His dad didn't reply at first, and instead raised his hand to his mouth.

"OW-OW-OWWWWWWWW!" Sabretooth gave a perfect impersonation of a wolf, howling loudly into the night. A reply came a few seconds later.

"_OWWWWWWWWWW!" _Multiple howls soon emitted, seemingly from all around, filling the night with their song.

"Sounds like wolves are close by," Sabretooth said casually. "Not a good idea to be out here in the dark of night, I'd say."

"DAD!" Graydon's voice became frantic, as he struggled more and more to break free of his bonds, but to no avail.

"Wolves always go for the weakest prey," his father continued, seemingly uncaring. "Bears on the other hand seem to go for anything they can get their claws on when they're hungry. So I suggest you start thinking a way out of this."

"How am I supposed to do _that_?"

"You've done it before," he told him, "getting out of tight situations. Just use whatever resources are open to you, and failing that…think like the animals do."

He stared hard at him. "Consider this your first real lesson in survival, boy. There's no reason that you can't make it out here, because an animal could easily do it."

"Dad, please…" He was so cold now that he forgot one of the most important lessons his dad had first taught him.

Sabretooth snarled and pressed his face right into his. "I've told you before," he said, growling at him. "Never ever use that word with me or to an enemy! That word is only used by the weak. Never forget that!"

Graydon shuddered. "Dad…I can't…I've barely got any clothes on…I'm cold…"

Sabretooth snorted in disgust. "Whine, whine, whine, is that all you can do? I've told you just now…if an animal can survive out here then so can you! Just do what they do."

He lowered his head, and licked some of the blood from Graydon's arm. "Start by smelling your own blood, boy, because that's what they do. They can smell it!"

He then got up and turned around, apparently leaving.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

Sabretooth didn't bother turning around. "Like I said, boy, this is _your_ lesson in survival. From here on, you're on your own." And with that, he walked away.

"DAD!" Graydon screamed. "DON'T LEAVE ME HERE!"

"The beasts will be here soon," he shouted back at him. "Like I said, there is no reason that you can't make it, since an animal could. All you have to do…is become an animal!"

"DAD!" Graydon cried out one more time, until the silhouette of his father faded into the falling snow. "Daddy…don't leave me…"

When it became clear that his father wasn't coming back, he wept bitter tears of fear, as all around him he could hear the wolves' howls. He didn't know how far they were from him. For all he knew, they could be standing right next to him and he'd never know.

His feet were now hurting terribly with frostbite. The only good thing about the tree he was tied to was that it provided shelter from the snow, and he was standing on frost-free earth. Alas that did nothing to protect him from the harsh cold winds.

He whimpered, as he tried moving his feet to get the circulation flowing through them, but each step and movement felt like he was walking on broken glass.

He pulled at the ropes again, but they were as tight now as they had been the first few times he had tried.

The wolves howled once more.

Graydon shivered uncontrollably, as he heard the branches of the trees rustle and creak, each time wondering if it was a bear or wolf coming to get him.

'What am I going to do?' he thought. 'What am I going to do?'

He thought back to his dad and what he had told him.

'Damn you, dad!' he mentally cursed his father with every ounce of his being. He had done nothing to deserve this! How could his own father do this to his own son?

The blood from the wound, where his dad had stabbed him with his own claw, continued to ooze down his arm. As he looked at it, he remembered his dad's words…"_They can smell it!"_

Lacking any other way, he pulled his wounded arm up to his face and craned his neck forward, only just reaching it because of the rope, and began licking and sucking the blood up.

His dad hadn't dug his claw in too deep, but it must have been near a vein or something, because the bleeding wasn't stopping.

The howls soon started again.

'Don't panic, don't panic,' Graydon thought, trying hard not to lose control.

He tried twisting his arms, but his skin was so dry that every time he moved, the ropes burned into them as they rubbed against his skin.

Fighting back tears, Graydon looked around himself, looking for anything he could use to help escape. 'What can I use?'

But there was nothing around except snow and broken twigs, and to top it off the blood had started trailing down his arm...

He stopped, as he stared at the blood, an idea forming in his head.

'I can't do that,' he thought. He had just moments ago been trying to get rid of the blood. From what his dad had said, the beasts could smell it and they'd come after it…and him!

Then again, he hadn't done too good a job of stopping the bleeding, so they could no doubt smell it anyway, thus it wouldn't make much of a difference now. And if it worked, he could always try cleaning it afterwards, and besides…what other choice had he?

Having little choice, he bent his head down again, and once more sucked on his wound until his mouth was half filled with blood. He then spat it right onto his arm where the ropes were. He repeated this action a couple of more times until his wrist was more or less soaked with his own blood and saliva. The blood was better, as it was slicker.

He began twisting his arm again, but this time his one wrist was slippery. It took him a few times, but eventually he was able to slip his arm out of the rope, with only some minor rope burns as a result.

Once he got one arm free, he simply untied the other, sighing with relief. However, that relief was short lived, as the wolves' howls returned, this time sounding closer than ever.

He felt himself beginning to panic, and his first instinct was to run, but he stopped.

"They can smell the blood," he recited his dad's words.

He reached down and scooped up some snow, rubbing it into his arm where all the blood was. The snow melted upon contact with his warm skin (well, warm_er_ than the snow anyway), but he collected more snow until his arm was drenched with water, the blood all washed off. Soon, the colour of red replaced the usual whiteness around the foot of the tree.

Once he was content with his arm's cleanliness, he ripped off a part of his pyjama-top, used it to dab his arm dry, and then pressed it to his wound, keeping it from bleeding any further.

Not waiting another moment longer, he took a few deep breaths and then started walking the way his father had gone. He hissed at the cold on his bare feet, but didn't stop. He knew that to stay longer than necessary was suicide. The animals could be upon him any second.

The cold washed over and through him, the thin material of his pyjamas doing nothing to help protect him from the harsh winter. Soon the pain of frostbite left his feet, leaving them completely numb, without feeling, as he dredged through the heavy snow.

Fortunately, his dad hadn't brought them that far out into the woods. He continued walking on ahead for about five minutes until he could finally make out the lights of his house in the distance.

He would have run if he could, but by then the numbness of the cold had spread from his feet to the rest of his legs. It was taking all of his energy to just keep moving without passing out.

He dragged his feet through the snow that had now reached a full six inches deep. His teeth were chattering so much, he was making a noise like a woodpecker. He had dropped the cloth from his pyjama-top that he was using to bind the wound on his arm, but he had yet to even realise it.

As he walked on, he bit his lower lip hard, not even registering the pain, and tasted the sweet _hot_ flow of his own blood in his mouth. It warmed him only slightly, but it was better than nothing.

His lungs felt like they were bursting, so much so that it was now hurting him to breathe, as his breaths came out in shallow bursts of fog from his mouth. His face had turned blue, while his feet looked as white as the snow.

Still, he tramped on until he finally made his way up to the porch of his front door. He had just managed to reach the first step when his breath seemingly got caught in his throat, and he fell to the ground.

"Da…" he heaved out with what little breath he had left, the cold having depleted him of most of it, but he could not even finish the one simple small word. "Da…"

He struggled to lift himself up from the snow-covered ground, but the cold, loss of blood and hard walk had robbed him of all his strength. With the last muscle still working in his entire body, he crawled about a centimetre further before he finally passed out.

As he lay in the snow that was now starting to build up around him, a huge shadow walked up behind him.

Sabretooth looked down on his son, smiling broadly. "Atta boy," he said lowly, and reached down to pick him up.

He had never left Graydon alone. Sabretooth had simply walked off until he was certain his son couldn't see him, and then doubled back to watch him from the shadows. He had lent his voice a few times, howling to get the attention of the wolves, but had never let them get too close to his boy. The years he had spent living and hunting in these woods had long since taught the wild life who was the alpha male in that part of the forest.

He carried Graydon back into the house, heading straight to the living room where he had left a blazing fire before leaving. The flames had dwindled a little, but nothing that another log couldn't handle. After tossing another couple of logs into the fireplace, he sat down on the couch, still with Graydon in his arms. He laid him down on his lap, sharing his body heat with him, knowing full well that after an ordeal like this he would need all the heat he could get.

He pulled the blanket that lay askew the couch, wrapping it around him, all the while never losing the grin on his face. "Atta boy," he repeated, patting his head. "That's my darlin' baby boy."

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Graydon groaned, as he slowly came to. The moment he did, he felt like screaming. Frostbite covered his entire body, and his hands and feet shivered uncontrollably as if he had arthritis.

"That's right, boy," his father's voice suddenly spoke to him. "Let the pain wash over you."

He turned his head and saw his dad standing over him, next to the couch that he was lying on. He couldn't remember getting into the house, but then most of last night was a blur from when he left the woods up to when he was making his way down the hill and back to his house.

"You did good, boy," his dad said, smiling down at him. "I admired the way you used your own blood as a lubricant to slip out of the ropes. Very resourceful."

His dad then pulled something out of his arm, and said, "There maybe hope for you yet, boy." He reached down and then pulled something out of Graydon's arm, which his son hadn't even noticed.

Graydon hissed a little, as whatever it was was yanked out of his arm. It seemed to be some sort of tube with a needle at the end, connected to a small machine. From the other side of it was another tube, which had been the one that led into his dad's arm.

The machine was actually a blood transfusion kit that Sabretooth had acquired years ago, after Graydon was born. He had done so because he had once met a doctor who theorised that a blood transfer between him and someone else might be able to cure that guy of any injuries or illnesses he might have had, thanks to his blood's regenerative powers.

Sabretooth had never bothered to try it, as there had been nothing in it for him, so he had left…after slitting the doctor's throat, of course.

He had decided to get the transfusion kit on the off chance that something might happen to Graydon. He figured that if this transfusion would work with anyone, it would certainly work with someone who was of his own flesh and blood.

So far, it seemed to be working a treat. He hadn't ever intended to use it, but Graydon's exposure to the elements had been a little more damaging than he first realised. He had literally been at death's door, and despite Sabretooth's belief that only the strong survived, he hadn't been willing to let his boy die just yet. He didn't know why, he just couldn't…he wouldn't!

He didn't know anything about genetics, but from what he could observe; his boy's body had seemed to soak up his blood like a sponge. The second the first drop had entered him, he had gone from death's door to half dead, to really sick, and finally on the road to recovery.

Even now, his body was still healing right before his eyes, as the shuddering in his limbs slowly subsided and his skin took on more colour.

'Pity I can't bottle the stuff and sell it,' he thought, smirking.

He had a feeling that this wouldn't be the first time he'd be using this thing. He had always been able to smell the difference between ordinary humans and mutants like he, and Graydon was definitely not the later. His scent had remained unchanged all his life. There wasn't a trace of mutancy in him.

He still found it hard to believe, as how could someone whose parents were both mutants be born human?

Still, he had known plenty of hard-cases over the years who had been just as tough as he, and not all of them had been mutants. He figured with the right training, his boy could turn out all right.

He poked the fire around a bit, his back to his son.

Graydon just lay where he was, his eyes dark and emotionless.

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**Present: **

Graydon had to admit, his dad had a way with teaching. He knew he wouldn't be forgetting that lesson anytime soon.

He remembered the horrible pain his body had been in, as it had slowly thawed from the extreme cold. It hadn't taken long for him to recover, but then that wasn't surprising.

His dad had told him what he had done to cure him of his frostbite. In all honesty, he hadn't known how to feel about that, and he still didn't. How are you supposed to feel when you learn that your dad had been transfusing his blood into you?

It had helped, so he supposed he shouldn't complain, even though he had felt pretty weird the next morning. When he had got up for breakfast, his dad was in the middle of doing his usual ham, bacon, eggs and steak. He had been so hungry that he hadn't even waited for his dad to start cooking the meat, and instead had grabbed it while it was still raw; devouring it quickly, bloody and all.

He hadn't even realised what he was doing until he felt his dad staring at him, and he noticed the blood from the steak dripping off his fingers.

His dad certainly hadn't seemed to mind, as he had laughed right out loud then, so loud that Graydon was surprised the shelves hadn't fallen down. But he hadn't minded him, as he had been so shocked by what he had done, he had just stared at his hands until his stomach started turning and he ran straight to the bathroom to be sick.

That hadn't been the only weird thing to happen that day. Throughout the next few hours, while he had gone through his chores, he had noticed that his eyesight and hearing had become more acute. He could hear a rabbit scurrying round the bushes way out in the woods, and could see a deer looking at him from the thicket, which normally would have been impossible for anyone to see, considering how well blended it was in the trees.

It had been so weird, but thankfully it hadn't lasted. By lunchtime, the effects seemed to wear off, and he was back to normal, though his dad didn't seem happy about it. He had contemplated getting that transfusion kit out again to give him another dose of what he was now calling his "power juice".

Graydon had respectfully declined, and when it looked like his dad was about to start yelling at him to take it anyway, he had told him that he would but not until he really needed it. That seemed to at least satisfy his dad, though he hadn't stopped grumbling for over an hour afterwards. Graydon could tell his dad had really wanted him to take another shot, and even now he feared that every day his dad would eventually snap and bring out the transfusion kit.

It hadn't exactly been bad while he had been under its effects; it had just been so…_strange_.

Graydon packed the last of his shirts into the bag and zipped it. "That should do it," he said to himself, and was about to call down to his dad to let him know that he was ready, when…

"Graydon!" his dad called to him. From the sound of his tone he was clearly agitated, yet he wasn't shouting as per usual. He had to be talking to him from the top of the stairs.

"Graydon, stay in your room! Don't come out for anything!"

"Dad, wha…?" he was about to ask.

[CRASH!]

He heard the sound of the front door crashing open, followed by a man's voice. It roared through the house, as loud as his dad.

"CREED!"

Graydon listened, as he heard what could only be his dad's heavy footsteps racing down the stairs, followed quickly by his dad's own roar that vibrated the walls.

"GET OUT OF MY HOME!"

Then, all hell broke loose.

**To Be Continued…**


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: **

_**I do not own any of Marvel's characters. This isn't for profit, but fun! **_

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**Creed Farm: **

Graydon sat huddled in his room listening, as from below him he could hear the sounds of what could only be a battle. A very fierce one from what he could tell, as multiple crashes, roars of rage and slicing echoed throughout the house.

An especially loud and violent crash literally shook the house.

Shocked and scared, Graydon jumped up and went to his window. When he looked out, he gasped as he saw his dad, now dressed in his usual torn jeans and a black shirt, fighting with a small man with long sideburns and what appeared to be…_claws_?

This man's claws, however, weren't the same as his dads. His dad's claws were where you would normally find your fingernails, whereas this man seemed to have three long claws on each of his hands, which seemed to be growing right out of his knuckles.

The man was a lot smaller than his dad, dressed in typical garments; a yellow checker shirt, blue jeans, a fleece coat and what looked like a cowboy hat, though the hat had now long since been knocked off during the fight. It lay in the dirt, as the man continued fighting.

Graydon watched in stunned disbelief, as the man did what he had always believed was impossible. He was thrashing his dad!

Not that his dad was making it easy for him. His father dodged the stranger's blows, striking him with his own claws, as they slashed one another. Graydon was almost surprised that the clash of their two sets of claws didn't set off sparks.

He winced, as he watched the man slice off a piece of his dad's shoulder, eliciting a roar of pain from him, which he countered with a swipe of his own. Fortunately, the man was a lot smaller than his dad but more agile. He managed to stay ahead of the claws, earning only some claw-marks on his back.

"_This is for Silver Fox, you murdering son of a bitch!_" he heard the man say.

Graydon wondered what a fox had to do with all this, and since when was a fox silver?

"_Let me know when you get started, runt!"_ his dad shouted back.

They carried on like this, shouting insults back and forth at each other, while they traded blows that left both of them in tatters, yet with very little blood.

That was when Graydon noticed that despite all the hits this stranger had been getting, and all the wounds he _knew_ he had gotten, there was practically no blood coming out of him. Oh, there was blood on his clothes he could see, but with the wounds he had sustained, he should be bleeding like a fountain by now.

'He's like dad,' he suddenly realised. The man must have the same healing factor as his father did. It was the only reason he wasn't a walking pile of mangled flesh, and how he was still going on.

The two men ended up taking their fight across the yard and into the barn, where he couldn't see. His curiosity piqued, Graydon couldn't stand to stay inside and not know what was going on, so he got up and raced downstairs and outside.

He had never seen his dad in action, but had always known him to be a dangerous fighter. Yet, not even he had suspected he was this fierce. The way he had been trading blows with that stranger had been nothing less than pure savagery.

He could hear the sounds of their fight even far away from the barn, but that did nothing to stop him. He quickly snuck up to the barn' doors, and took a peek inside.

The battle had not lessened even in the slightest, as the two of them slashed out at each other with everything they had. Graydon could not help but be amazed at the way the stranger ducked and sprang from each of his father's strikes, moving with the swiftness of a squirrel and the trickery of a fox.

Sabretooth snarled, as he took another swipe at the man's face.

"This is it, Creed," the man swore, his clothes in tatters. "This is the end!"

"You and what army, ru…!" he started to say, but before he could finish…

The small man leaped up until his chest was at the same level of Sabretooth's chin, and then one hard slash…the fight ended.

Graydon's eyes widened, as he stared.

"Who needs an army?" the man replied, as he landed back on the ground, breathing heavily.

Sabretooth's head rolled back on his shoulders, most of his throat cut, now just holding on by the skin of what was left of his neck.

He had beheaded him!

"Rest in pieces, _bub_!" the man growled. "Hope you…"

"DAD!" Graydon screamed, having finally found his voice. His mind was still in shock, as otherwise he wouldn't have made so big a mistake by revealing his existence and location to someone who had just beheaded his father.

"Huh?" the man spun around to face him.

Graydon turned and ran. His thoughts went back to all that his dad had taught him, trying to remember what to do with an intruder.

'First thing,' he thought, 'get a weapon.'

He ran back to the house, racing through the door and heading toward the living room cabinet where his dad kept his gun-rack. He quickly opened it, grabbing one of the shotguns inside. He knew it was loaded, as his dad always kept the guns loaded.

Correction: his dad _had_ always kept the guns loaded.

Graydon's hands started to shiver, but he kept them under control. Now was definitely not the time to lose himself!

He rushed into the kitchen, where he could best see anyone coming. He held the gun close, breathing shallowly, each breath sounding like it was coming out louder than a foghorn.

At first, he heard nothing, the night as quiet as a field before the eve of battle. When a few minutes had passed, he began to think the man had left, content with simply killing his father, until…

[CREAK!]

Graydon swallowed. The gun in his hands was starting to shake again, no matter how hard he tried to still it.

The creaking noise had been from the front porch. His dad had deliberately put it there, as he said that such a noise could be a big help to let them know if there was ever an intruder coming up to the door. He knew now he had been right.

He clicked the safety of the gun, holding it closer. A moment later there was another creak from the front, and Graydon waited patiently for the door to open.

A full minute passed, and still nothing. Feeling anxious and nervous beyond belief, he took a risk and peeked his head around the corner, to look down the hallway to the front door. When he did, he saw nothing but the empty hallway and the door still closed with not even a shadow behind it.

He tiptoed into the hallway, trying his best to stealthily walk across to the door. He knew he would have to see outside for himself if the man was there. He crept silently forward, taking one small step at a time, and…

"_See anything interesting?"_ a voice said right behind him.

Graydon squealed in fright, and spun around. His finger was still on the trigger, but before he could pull it…a loud slash sounded in front of him, and the gun suddenly fell from his grasp in pieces.

"You know, you shouldn't play with guns, kid," the man told him, holding his fist in front of him where three claws were now sticking out of. The claws looked like they were made out of bone.

Graydon gasped and dropped what was left of the gun, running upstairs.

The man sighed. "Look, kid!" he called up after him. "I'm not gonna hurt ya! So how about we just sit down and talk about what you're doing here and…"

[BANG!]

He swore, as a bullet blasted beside him, missing him by mere inches. "This is why I don't like to play nice!" he growled.

Graydon forced himself to calm down, keeping his ears open for any sound of the man coming up the stairs. He brandished the small handgun in his hands, not missing the fact that this was the first time he had held it since he was about four.

He still couldn't figure out how the guy had managed to get around the house and creep right up behind him without him noticing.

The creak on the stairs broke him out of his thoughts. "Stay where you are!" he shouted.

"Look, kid, just put the gun down, okay?"

"I'm not a kid!" Graydon yelled, coming out from the doorframe he was in, and taking aim.

He never even made it to pull the trigger, as the man suddenly raced forward, faster than a wildcat but twice as stealthy, his claws once again unsheathed. In less than a second, Graydon once more had a gun in pieces on the floor before him.

"You know, bub," the man said, sheathing his claws back in. "I could do this all night if I had to. Only that would mean I would have to keep bringing my claws out, and contrary to what it looks like, it hurts every damn time I do that! Now, each time you make me do that, I'm gonna get more and more testy! So take my earlier advice and SIT DOWN!"

Graydon backed up, his eyes never leaving the stranger, as he sat down on his bed. Meanwhile, the strange man moved across the room, seemingly noticing for the first time that he was in a kid's room.

"This your room?" he asked. At Graydon's slow nod, he swore. "Did Sabretooth break into your house or something? Where's your folks?"

Graydon just looked at him in confusion. "Who…who's Sabretooth?" he asked. Since he had never been on any of his dad's business trips or had anything to do with his work, he naturally knew nothing about his dad's codename.

"The big guy from back in the barn," the man replied. "Look, my name's Logan. What's yours?"

"Gra…Graydon…Graydon Creed." He stuttered for a moment.

The man, whose name was apparently Logan, seemed to freeze. He stared at Graydon with an unreadable expression. "Creed?"

He nodded. "The big guy outside, as you call him…was my dad…" His eyes glared daggers at him. "YOU KILLED HIM!" With that, he launched himself at his dad's killer, preparing to hit him with every move his dad had taught him from early childhood.

Logan just gave a sigh, as he neared him, seemingly unconcerned. Just when he got near him, Logan leaped up and grabbed him by the scuff of his shirt's collar, slamming him forward, and then…nothing.

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Graydon moaned as he came to, his head pounding. But the pain in his head was nothing to the shame he was now feeling. He hadn't been dealt such an embarrassing defeat since he was a little kid!

"Ah, so you're awake are you?" Logan said, as he came into the room. "Good. I was startin' to think I'd slammed your head into the wall too hard."

Graydon just gave a loud snarl at him, though from him it sounded more like a cat being strangled. He tried leaping up, but found himself to be tied down to the bed.

Logan cocked an eyebrow at him. "You definitely ain't your father's son, kid," he just said.

Graydon turned his head away, his thoughts ashamed.

"Don't take that the wrong way," Logan continued, sitting down beside him. "That was actually a compliment."

He just glared back at Logan, noticing he was filthier now than he had been when he last saw him. His clothes, what there were of them, were now covered with dirt.

Logan sighed. "Okay, maybe that was the wrong thing to say…"

"You killed my dad!" Graydon said again.

Logan nodded. "Yeah, I did do that…" he sighed again. "I'm sorry you had to see it…Graydon, was it?"

He chewed his lower lip, forcing back the tears that were threatening to leak from his eyes. His only reply to Logan's question was a simple nod.

"Look…Graydon." The man actually looked uncomfortable now for some reason, his face frowning as if attempting to choose his next words carefully. "Your dad and I…we had some issues."

"Issues that required him getting his head cut off?"

Logan frowned. "Kid, I wish there was an easier way to say this... I don't know what kinda guy you think your dad was, but he was definitely no innocent."

The man leaned forward, staring intently at him. "The guy was a sadistic killer! He butchered countless people, a lot of whom were friends of mine."

"The only killer I know of tonight is you!" Graydon shot back. "You practically ripped him to pieces, and then sliced his head near clean off!"

"And he murdered the woman I loved just to get at me!" Logan suddenly shouted, and then immediately recoiled. "He tracked me down, found out I was living with this woman called Silver Fox…"

The name _Silver Fox_ made Graydon remember the exchange of words between this Logan and his dad earlier. His dad had not admitted doing the deed, but he hadn't denied it either.

"Right on my birthday, too, wouldn't you know," Logan said bitterly, which again made Graydon pause. "He ended up making a tradition out of it. Every year on my birthday, he would come after me and torture me in some new way."

'His special friend!' Graydon thought in horror. All those years, every year when his dad would leave to go visit someone for his birthday, but never telling him who he was. He was…

Graydon was suddenly beginning to get a sick feeling in his stomach. His dad wouldn't do that! He couldn't do such a thing… And yet, he had done once, as he remembered the bullies from when he had been in kindergarten.

"I won't lie to you, Graydon," Logan continued. "I can't say that I'm sorry I killed your dad. Far as I'm concerned, the guy deserved it and a hundred other things a million times worse. But I definitely didn't want anyone, let alone some kid, especially Creed's own boy, to watch me do it!"

"How could you do it?" Graydon asked. "Why…?"

Logan shrugged. "Something your dad and I had in common…We were the best there was at what we did, but what we did best wasn't very nice."

He reached out his hand to gently touch Graydon's shoulder, but he didn't acknowledge it.

"Is there someone I can call for you?" Logan asked hesitantly, seemingly a little unsure of how to approach him. Graydon suspected he didn't have much experience talking with kids. "Your mom perhaps?"

"It was just me and dad," Graydon replied. "I don't even know my mother."

Logan swore under his breath, and then got up. "Don't move," he said silently. With a quick slash, Logan popped one of his claws out and cut the ropes binding him.

Graydon looked down and then up at him suspiciously.

"Don't make me regret this, okay, kid," Logan told him simply, and then turned around, heading downstairs.

Graydon just stayed lying where he was, watching him go.

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He didn't know how long he had stayed upstairs, but eventually he gathered his strength and got up from his bed. He made his way downstairs, and was about to go straight into the kitchen for a drink, when a low snoring caught his attention.

The man, Logan, was lying askew on the couch, his feet up on the shoulder, and his hat, which he must have retrieved, tilted over his forehead, hiding his eyes.

In truth, Graydon was more than surprised. He truly hadn't expected this guy to still be in the house, and thought he would have been gone long before now.

He looked down at the man, lying on the couch the same way his dad used to. The sight was beginning to make his blood boil, as he glared fiercely at him, the memory of his dad's head being cleaved from his shoulders refreshing itself in his head.

Slowly, Graydon went into the kitchen, and then returned a few moments later with one of the butcher knives in his hand. He cautiously approached the supposedly sleeping man, the knife in his hand. So intent was he that he hadn't even noticed that the man had stopped snoring.

Graydon stood before Logan, his eyes glaring down on him. The memory of his father's death refreshed itself again and again. It was like watching a rerun on the video, repeating itself incessantly.

Graydon raised the knife high above his head, its point aiming down on Logan's chest.

'I'm going to kill you, you murderer,' he thought. 'I'm gonna kill you just like how you killed my dad.'

And there he had stood for the better half of several minutes, the knife still over his head. He took one deep breath after another, wanting very much to bring the blade down into the murderer's heart and cut it out, but…something prevented him.

As he stood there, his thoughts went back to his childhood of all things. He remembered how his dad had taken him out in the middle of night, half naked on a cold and snowy night, tying him to a tree in the forest and leaving him there to fend for himself. He remembered his first day at school, the bullies who beat him up, but his dad making no sign of caring…and then the boys mysteriously dying, torn up as though mangled by an animal.

Other memories kept coming in and out of his mind. He saw himself in the cellar, the gun that went off, his dad about to hit him and then stopping, holding him for the first and only true affectionate time in his life. Miss Jenkins the social worker, her disappearance, his dad laughing about it. The day after his dad fed him his own blood. His dad saying "Atta boy" to him. The deer that he made him kill after torturing it.

All these and countless others flowed through his memory.

'What will I do without him?' he thought hysterically. Part of him felt relieved that his dad was gone, as he was no longer afraid for once, and another part of him was terrified, as what was he supposed to do now?

The knife trembled in his grasp, but his thoughts were ever more confused than ever. Then he thought 'what would his dad do'?

"AAARRRGHHHHH!" Graydon screamed and flung the knife away from him, watching it as he hit the wall and fell to the floor.

He stood there for a few moments, breathing heavily.

"Feel better?" Logan suddenly asked him, making him jump.

"How long you been awake?" Graydon demanded.

Logan tipped his hat off of his face, looking up at him. "Long enough," he simply replied, and pointed to his ears. "Ears like mine don't miss much, kid."

Graydon gave a bitter laugh. He should have realised that, as his dad had been the same.

At another thought of his father, Graydon finally had enough and broke down, as he slid to the floor in tears. He stayed there for a few minutes. Logan didn't disturb him, and just got up from the couch, walking around the room and then back towards him.

"Okay?" he asked once Graydon was finished.

"How did you know I wouldn't kill you?" Graydon asked him. "I wanted to, I really did…Hell, I _still_ do!"

"I bet you do," Logan replied, looking at him almost sadly. "Can't say I blame you for that."

"Then how'd you know I wouldn't?"

Logan gave him a long look. "You do look a bit like your old man," he told him. "Not just in your face, but in your personality, your spirit. You've certainly got his temper, but…"

"But what?"

"You're not a killer," Logan said simply. "The killing spirit is definitely there inside you, but for some reason you've got it buried. Maybe your dad had some hand in that, or maybe you know deep down what your old man really was, and you didn't wanna be like him."

Graydon chewed his lower lip, clenching his fists. "I'm weak," he said, already feeling his dad's angry roar at him.

At that, Logan suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. "No!" he declared. "Now you listen to me, boy. I don't know what kind of lessons your old man has been feeding you since you were born, but there is nothing weak about not wanting to kill! The fact that you don't want to makes you a million times better than your dad…or _me_…ever were."

Graydon looked up at him curiously. "If that's true, why did you have to kill my dad? And why don't you stop killing?"

Logan frowned, turning around. "Believe me, kid; there is nothing I want more. But wanting something and actually getting it… It's a whole lot harder than it sounds."

Graydon gave him a curious stare at first, but then just looked down. "What's going to happen to me now?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Logan frowned. This was definitely _not_ in the plan! He'd come here for the sole reason of ripping Sabretooth apart, thus avenging his late love and finally bringing all the years of torment and bloodshed he'd suffered because of that overgrown hairball to an end.

He had certainly not been planning to do any babysitting tonight.

"You sure there's no one I can call?" he finally asked again.

Graydon shook his head.

Logan swore below his breath, rubbing his eyes as though tired. "Okay," he started, sounding exhausted. "Look, how's about this? You stay with me for now, nothing permanent, until we find someplace else for you?"

Graydon looked at him for a while, until finally he nodded, seemingly satisfied with the plan.

"Okay, bub," he added. "Go get your things, cos we definitely can't stay here."

Graydon turned and walked up the stairs, with Logan staring at him.

He swore again, wondering what the hell he was doing. Just a few hours ago, he had butchered this kid's father right in front of him, and now he was taking him on a road-trip with him!

Sabretooth's son! No matter how many times he ran that through his mind, Logan still couldn't get his head around it. The idea of Sabretooth as a dad was like trying to imagine Hitler at a Bar Mitzvah, and he seriously doubted that Creed had been the loving, affectionate type. Lord knows what kind of childhood this kid had had.

Logan walked over to the window, looking out at the barn where he had buried Creed. He had been prepared to just leave Creed's body where it was, on the floor where the rats and vermin could get at it, but the appearance of Graydon had changed that. He didn't want to risk the kid walking out and coming across his dad's corpse. He'd already been through enough tonight without that.

He snarled at himself. He had thought the day when he and Creed finally had their last battle would be the best day of his life. If he succeeded and Creed was dead, he'd finally be free of him once and for all. It had been a dream come true when he had heard rumors of what some folks were describing a werewolf living in a town somewhere. A werewolf was one of the many things Sabretooth had been called in his life.

He had been so elated at having found some trace of him after so long that he hadn't stopped to wonder why Sabretooth had suddenly let his guard down. It was only now, after meeting the boy, that he now knew the reason.

And now…he felt more trapped than ever.

What was he doing? He shouldn't be looking after Creed's kid of all people. He owed Sabretooth nothing except the ugly death he had already granted the psychopath. And as for Graydon…

He paused at the thought of the boy, his keen ears listening to him as he moved about upstairs.

He hadn't been lying when he said he had seen some of his dad in him, not just in his rugged looks, but the insane expression he had had on his face when he had been about to try and gut him.

In truth, the kid frightened him a little. Looking at him was like looking at a young Sabretooth, and for all he knew that was just what the kid was destined to be. He wouldn't be surprised if that was what Creed had been raising him to be.

For a brief moment, he thought of killing him like he had done his father, but immediately forced that thought out of his head. No matter what his lineage (he couldn't help whose son he was); Logan would never stoop so low as to kill a child.

He certainly didn't think he was the best person to take him in. After all, he had just gutted his dad a few hours ago. But if what the boy said was true then who else was there? And it wasn't as if he could call the authorities, considering he had been the one who slew Sabretooth.

Frowning again, he decided that for the time being Graydon would have to stay with him. Maybe he could find someone who would be willing to take him in. Someone who had experience in dealing with troubled kids, although he had no doubt they'd be having a field-day with this one.

A few minutes later, Graydon came down with a rucksack on his back.

"You got everything?" Logan asked him.

He nodded. "Where's dad?" he suddenly asked, making him pause.

"Don't worry," he told him calmly. "I took care of him. He's at peace now, wherever he is." With that, he went to the front door, stepping through and indicating Graydon to do the same.

Another moment passed, and Graydon followed him through.

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An hour had passed since Logan had taken Graydon and left for parts unknown, even to them. The entire farm lay undisturbed except for the odd wind that blew the loose shutters to and fro.

Inside the barn, the earthen floor was loose, having been dug up and then returned. Most of the dirt laid spread out all across the barn's floor. Any of the animals that had once resided in there were now gone, having been released and left to roam free.

The silhouette of a large human shape lay embedded in the floor, unnoticeable to anyone.

A small field-mouse scuttled across the barn, looking for some food. Its nose perked up, smelling at something.

The earth remained undisturbed, still as the grave, which was precisely what it was.

A wolf's howl sounded in the distance.

The shape in the earth remained quiet, and then…a grain of dirt started to shift.

**To Be Continued…**


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: **

_**I do not own any of Marvel's characters. This isn't for profit, but fun! **_

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**X-Mansion; 15 Years Later: **

"Come on, Wagger, you're not even trying!" Graydon commented, laughing as his blue-furred friend leapt away from the attacks of the Danger-Room's attack-bots. He jumped onto the head of one of them, teleporting at just the last minute as the rest of them opened fire, blasting that one robot and several of the others into pieces.

"Who's not trying, _Greedy_?" Nightcrawler called to him by his special nickname, in his playful and elfish tone.

Graydon just smiled and turned up the level of the simulation.

It was all in good humour. He and Kurt Wagner, aka Nightcrawler, had been friends for many years now, and were always playing tricks on each other like this. They had been ever since they had first come to the X-Mansion and joined Professor Xavier's X-Men.

Actually, it had really been Logan, aka Wolverine, who Xavier had recruited, as the X-Men were a team of mutants, and while Graydon had a lot of impressive skills, which he had learned from both men in his life, he was no mutant. He had, for lack of a better description, just been along for the ride, which Logan had insisted on upon joining Xavier. Graydon had been with Logan ever since his father's…_passing_.

Graydon didn't like to think of his father, as it brought on bad memories, not to mention old instincts that he preferred to leave buried.

After his father's death, Logan had taken him in with the promise that he would find him a safe home as soon as he could. By the time Xavier had found them, the two of them had been together for several years. Whether this was because Logan hadn't trusted any of the people they had met in their years together, or if he just didn't want to part with him, was anyone's guess. Logan was an impossible man to figure.

He wouldn't say they had a father/son relationship. Despite everything, there was still only one man who Graydon would ever call father. But they were friends at least, and Logan had always been there to help him out.

Graydon still remembered the day Xavier had first come to them…

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**Tibet; 7 Years Ago: **

Graydon, now twenty years old, wiped the sweat off his brow, as tended the last acre of the field.

After the death of his father, Logan had taken him out of Canada and across states in America for a few months. It had been fun, Graydon had thought, though Logan hadn't seemed to think so. He couldn't recall the guy ever smiling.

Over time, they had met the odd man and woman who seemed to be old friends of Logan's, though Graydon never learned much about them. They would drop in on them, Logan and they would talk, and Graydon would often get the feeling that these were the people Logan was planning to leave him with. He'd known from the start that he wasn't meant to stay with him, as Logan constantly reminded him. But every time, just as Logan looked as if he were about to ask him to get out of his car, he would always give a grunt and then tell him to get back in.

After a few months, Logan had then taken him out of the states and brought him to the mountains of Tibet of all places. He said he had been there before; when he had been happy, and thought it might be the ideal place to start again.

Graydon had never brought it up, but he couldn't help but remember that when Logan had said "start again", he had never said he would be starting alone.

So they had come together to a remote place in the mountains where Logan had started up a small farm. There was a village close by. The people, Graydon noticed, often gave them cold looks, most likely because of them being foreigners. If Logan had noticed, then he didn't let it bother him, and Graydon was long since used to people giving him the cold shoulder. The fact that he didn't speak Tibetan very well didn't help much either. Logan had tried teaching him, but he was a poor student when it came to languages.

So he had stayed here, in the middle of nowhere where there was no TV, not even a radio, and the people's idea of Saturday night fun was meditating.

God, he was bored! He didn't know why he hadn't moved away the second he turned eighteen, but…where was he going to go? And the place wasn't all bad, as the views of the mountains and the valley were spectacular. He often went high into the mountains to just look at the views around him.

He scythed the last of the crops, just as something suddenly barged into his head from above. He jumped, his instincts yelling at him to prepare for battle. After so many years training, his fighting skills had become second nature to him.

Turns out it was for nought this time, as what had banged into him was nothing more than a simple red kite. The two children whom the kite belonged to were already running up to him.

"Gonad!" the first one spoke in hurried Tibetan. The second one stepped in and helpfully translated, as he knew the light-brown haired foreigner did not speak their language very well. "_Sorry_. May we have our kite back?"

Graydon looked at them for a moment, staring at the kids and then at the kite that had banged into the back of his head.

Since arriving in Tibet, Logan had tried his best to be there for him, to help him deal with his anger and the loss of his father…which was not an easy thing to do, considering he was the one who had killed him. But he had taught him a lot of what he considered important values, such as strength, discipline, respectful of nature, family, peace and kindness.

[SLASH!]

The children stared in shock, as Graydon slashed the kite into ribbons before throwing it at them, snarling in a way that would have made his father proud. They screamed, running off down the path back to the village.

Graydon didn't have any problems with the first three values, but the last three…not so much.

Graydon stood where he was for a few minutes, just staring at the now destroyed kite, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were turning white. After a while, he just threw the scythe he had been holding away from him, and stomped back up to the house.

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"You wanna explain what happened?" Logan asked him calmly, as he walked in.

Graydon didn't answer at first, just continued boiling the rice and adding them to his bowl. "About what?" he asked.

"I just came back from the village. I was on my way home when one of the parents stopped me, complaining about how you scared his kids. Something about a kite?"

Graydon sat down on the floor, at the table, idly stirring his bowl for a moment. "They flew the thing into me," he said; giving what even he thought was a rather pathetic explanation.

"So you just tore the thing up and snarled at the tykes?" Logan growled at him.

Graydon winced. Obviously the kid's parents had told him everything. "I had just finished tending the crops. I was tired and I…"

"And last time it was because you hadn't got enough sleep, before then it was because you had a headache and the people wouldn't shut up, before then…" Logan went through the list of excuses Graydon had given over the years since arriving at their new home.

"Why?" Logan then asked him, sounding almost desperate. "Graydon, why the hell do you seem to blow up at everyone around you?"

"I DON'T KNOW, ALL RIGHT!" Graydon suddenly screamed, his frustration now once again rearing its ugly head. "I JUST…I just…got…angry." He finished lamely.

Logan stared at him for a while, before sighing tiredly. "What do you want me to do, Graydon? I've tried my best with you, but nothing I do seems to work. Everything I say to you seems to go in one ear and out the other. And anything I've ever taught you, you seem to use just to create more violence."

He winced slightly. One of the things Logan had taught him, besides being respectful and everything, was also a bit of martial arts. He had even tried teaching him meditating once, and although Graydon had thrown himself into it at first, it had proven useless with him. He had never been able to get his head around it, and neither could he stand sitting still for so long.

The martial arts had been useful, though he didn't need to be a genius to know that Logan often thought it was a mistake teaching him that. One of the first real acts of trouble he had gotten into was when he got into a fight with a group of boys, for what reason he could no longer remember, and he had used his new skills to beat the crap out of them. Needless to say, Logan had not been pleased when he found out, and had almost stopped teaching him.

"Do you wanna go back to Canada?" he asked him suddenly.

That question surprised him. "No," he said honestly. There was nothing for him back there, no close friends or any family...not anymore.

"How about America?"

"Why are we even discussing moving?"

"Because living here is clearly not working out for you. And with all the trouble you've caused, it's a miracle we haven't been run out of town by now!"

"Oh, fine!" Graydon got up, about to storm out. "It's all my fault, is it? Okay then! I admit it! I'm to blame, you happy?"

"Sit down!" Logan growled, also standing up.

"I'm not a kid anymore, so stop treating me like one!"

"Maybe if you'd stop acting like one then I wouldn't!"

Graydon glared hatefully at him for a moment, before turning to leave.

"Graydon…" Logan reached out to grab him. "Look, let's…"

"Let's what?" He snapped. "Sit down? Talk? Have a nice family chat? Kinda hard to do, don't you think, considering we're not family and my only relative you…!" He paused, breathing heavily.

Logan tensed up a bit, but didn't say anything.

"Sorry," Graydon said finally. "I didn't mean to…"

"Yeah, you did, kid," Logan interrupted, looking sadly at him. "Yeah, you did. And I don't blame you for it."

Graydon clenched his fists, but then just hurried out the room, and this time Logan did not stop him.

"Damn you, Creed," he snarled beneath his breath. "Even when you're dead, you're still causing problems for me."

0000000000

**One Week Later: **

Logan and Graydon tended the crops, neither of them saying anything to the other. Both of them had been reluctant to say anything since their last talk the previous week.

Logan was at a loss of how to proceed. He knew right from the beginning that it had been a mistake to take Graydon with him. The kid had needed help dealing with what happened to his dad…what _he_ had done to his dad.

How could he have been so stupid to think he would be the right one to help him? He had been the one who had slain his dad for crying out loud, and had done it while the poor kid had been watching! He should have left him with other people who could have helped him better, but that accursed conscience of his wouldn't allow him to just walk out on him, not after what he had done.

The first month they spent together had been the worst, as Graydon kept having nightmares about that night. Many times he woke up screaming, up to the point where Logan had seriously been considering wearing earplugs.

He had brought him here to the peace and tranquillity of the Orient, tried teaching him martial arts and meditation, which had always helped him whenever he felt conflicted. It had seemed to work at first, as the nightmares had ebbed, but the kid still had an extraordinary amount of anger in him. Nothing he did seemed to help, as Graydon just seemed to grow angrier each day.

He supposed he should be grateful, as things could always be worse. At least he wasn't a mutant like his dad. That would be the one thing to top everything off. Thankfully, though, Graydon had inherited his dad's temper, but nothing else.

That still left the problem of what he was to do now.

He was still thinking this over an hour later, when a loud whirring sound came from up above, and they looked up to see a large helicopter with an X painted into its underside descending upon them.

"Graydon, get inside now!" Logan said sharply.

"Why? Who's…?"

"GET IN!" Logan shouted, and Graydon was hit with a flashback of a similar scene that happened once with his father, when a woman had visited their house. Despite being a lad of twenty now, he felt the old instincts kicking in and, feeling like a kid again, rushed inside.

Graydon watched from inside the house, as a man in a wheelchair came out and went right up to Logan, apparently intending to speak with him. Although he couldn't hear what was being spoken, he could see Logan was clearly agitated. He had learned years later that apparently he had a problem with men in authority.

The man had revealed that he was a mutant, like Logan, but with different abilities. He was putting together a team of mutants, which was supposed to help their kind and humanity. Logan had actually laughed out loud when the guy had told him that he wanted him to join up and help them do _good _things together. Logan had been many things in his life, but a good Samaritan wasn't one of them.

He had looked like he was getting ready to throw him off their mountain, but at the last moment he stopped and looked thoughtful for a second. They had then talked for a few more minutes, before Logan had called out to Graydon.

"Graydon, get out here!"

When he walked over to them, Logan introduced the both of them. "Graydon, this is Charles Xavier. Xavier, this is Graydon Creed, my…" he paused for a moment. "I suppose _ward_ would be the most appropriate description." He turned back to Graydon, and then spoke in his serious tone, which had none of his slight temper or idle humour. "Graydon…Xavier here is a doctor…"

"It's Professor actually," the bald man corrected helpfully, earning a short glare from Logan.

"Fine, _Professor_!" Logan said shortly. "Graydon, the Prof here is starting some kind of organisation that helps people with…_special abilities_."

Graydon frowned. "You mean people like you and da…other people?"

He nodded. "He's also helped out a lot of people who've had difficulties. I want him to work with you for a bit, see if there's anything he can do to…"

"I don't need a shrink!" Graydon shrieked; his face contorted in rage.

"Well, you obviously need something, boy!" Logan shot back. "Because living here isn't working out, and I'm about at the end of my tether with you!"

Graydon glared at him.

"If I may," Xavier interjected. "Maybe we could come to some sort of arrangement?"

He looked at him, his brow furrowed in distrust.

"We could always try a trial-run. Say six weeks? At the end of that time, if you believe I am not doing anything to help you, you are free to leave whenever you wish."

He raised his hand to Graydon. "Mr. Creed, you are twenty years old, which means you are legally responsible for your own actions, and you are not required to do anything we say. This is all up to you. If you don't wish to proceed with this, then all you have to do is say so."

"And just so you know, you won't be going alone," Logan then added. "Like I told you, the Prof is starting a group of mutants, and he's asked me to join. So while you're busy working with him, I'll be off playing with the big boys, okay?"

Graydon frowned.

"Remember, it's your decision," Xavier reminded him. "No one will force you to do anything you don't wish to."

He stayed silent for a minute, chewing on his lower lip until finally he just sighed and said, "Okay, let's do it."

Logan gave one of his thin and barely noticeable smiles, while Xavier just smiled brightly. He had been a little reluctant to let Graydon come to the institute at first. Although his school was indeed that, a school, first and foremost, he also knew they were going to be doing a lot of dangerous work, like battling dangerous mutants such as Magneto. That kind of work was not for an ordinary human.

But Logan had been most insistent that Graydon come with him, and for Xavier to help him. Besides, just as his school was a school before all else, Xavier was also a doctor first, and couldn't turn his back on a soul in need.

He'd actually been concerned when Logan had told him the details about Graydon's father, and was surprised that he had taken the boy in. He admired him to be sure, but the thought of a man taking in a boy after murdering his own father right in front of him… Needless to say, it was strange.

But Xavier was determined to help Graydon. He could sense all the rage and frustration built up inside of him. Not surprising considering all that he had had to deal with in his life. The life he had had with his father, who, if Logan was to be believed, was not the fatherly type. His father's murder, by Logan's hand no less, and then Logan taking him in as his foster son, followed by the revelation of what kind of man his father had really been. But he was confidant he could help him.

Xavier was also partial to the idea of having a non-mutant at the institute, as the whole purpose of his school was to bring mutants and humans closer together, and what better way than to have an ordinary human living and working at a mutant school!

Still smiling, Xavier held out his hand to shake Graydon's. "Welcome to the Xavier Institute!"

0000000000

**Present; X-Mansion: **

Graydon smiled, as he remembered first coming to the Institute all those years ago.

After everything had been settled, he and Logan had moved to the states with Xavier, taking up permanent residence in his mansion. Even Logan had admitted the place was a giant leap from their small farm.

Graydon had loved it! To finally return to civilisation with malls, TV, music and a mansion with central heating, indoor plumbing and electricity, had been heavenly. Though, he had to admit, he did miss the mountains. Not to mention the air there was a lot cleaner.

Then he had had his first taste of chocolate in eight years, and any nostalgia was gone.

It turned out Xavier already had a few other mutants, part of his original group, which he called the X-Men, but who had been captured by some kind of Living Island called Krakoa. The old members were Scott Summers, aka Cyclops, Warren Worthington III (Angel), Bobby Drake (Iceman), Jean Grey (Marvel Girl), Lorna Dane (Polaris) and Alex Summers (Havok).

Cyclops was the only one of the original X-Men who had escaped capture, and was there at their debriefing. The moment he met him, Graydon felt the guy's codename should have been something more like _Teacher's Pet_. The guy had been a serious stick in the mud, and still was in his opinion, but he had been friendly at least, with an obvious concern for his friends/team-mates.

Besides Logan, the other new members were an African woman called Ororo Munroe (Storm), Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler), Sean Cassidy (Banshee), Shiro Yoshida (Sunfire), Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin (Colossus), and John Proudstar (Thunderbird).

Logan also had a codename of his own, which, as it turned out, he had gotten years ago when he had been with another organisation of some sort. Graydon had asked him about it, but Logan just fell into his silent routine, and after years of living with him and the years before of going through the same thing with his dad, Graydon knew better than to keep asking.

Logan's codename was Wolverine, which Graydon had to admit was appropriate for him, considering his long claws. Not to mention he had the same attitude as one. He had even gotten a costume from somewhere, though Graydon hadn't and still didn't think much of it. It was a yellow and black skin-tight costume with an odd mask. He'd once made the mistake of jokingly calling Logan a bumblebee, because of the colours.

Another thing that Logan had in common with his dad…neither of them liked jokes, particularly about them.

[BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!]

Cerebro's alarm pulled Graydon out of his musings, and he checked the computer's security alarm.

"Problem?" Nightcrawler called.

"Not sure," Graydon answered back on the intercom. "Don't let it interrupt your program. I'll check it out and report back to you in a minute."

Nightcrawler gave him a thumbs-up, and narrowly dodged another three robots coming at him.

Graydon checked Cerebro's security system, but saw no sign of any trouble. The alarm had been that of a possible intruder, but it was now silenced.

He shrugged, giving it up as a shadow and nothing else. Small animals would often come within the camera's area, activating the security grid. The controls were way too sensitive, he thought.

He reset the controls, and was about to go back to watching Nightcrawler's program, which was better than watching TV any day, when the alarm sounded again.

**To Be Continued…**


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: **

_**I do not own any of Marvel's characters. This isn't for profit, but fun! **_

0000000000

**X-Mansion: **

Graydon frowned, as the alarm went off again in Cerebro's security grid. He punched in a number on the intercom.

"Logan?" he said.

"_What is it, kid?" _

Graydon gave a thin smile. One day he would have to talk to Logan about stop calling him _kid_. "I just had an alarm come through on Cerebro. It's gone now, but it's the second one in the last few minutes. Possible intruder. Mind checking it out?"

"_Consider it done. Check back with you in a few." _

"Over and out," Graydon said, as he deactivated the call.

He relaxed somewhat, knowing that Logan was seeing to it, and continued watching as Nightcrawler did several somersaults into the air, escaping all of the Danger Room's traps and robotic attackers.

He remembered when they had first met; it hadn't been the best first meeting.

0000000000

**X-Mansion; 7 Years Ago:**

Graydon followed Logan into the room Xavier had indicated to them, where the other members of his new team were waiting for them. Although Graydon saw no reason why he should be there, seeing as he wasn't a mutant, and thus, wouldn't be going on any missions with them, Xavier felt he should at least introduce himself to them, seeing as they would all be living in the same house.

Sighing, Graydon accepted his logic and walked inside.

The moment he did, a cloud of red smoke puffed in front of him, complete with a terrible smell of brimstone. He only had time to cough a few times before his eyes cleared and saw what looked like a demon straight out of Hell before him…which at the time made sense, considering the smell of brimstone and all.

He yelped and stumbled back, only to be stopped by Logan, or Wolverine as he preferred to be called when he was in his costume, who stood right behind him. He was used to seeing strange things, and Xavier had already told him about a few of the mutants he would be working with.

The demon looked at Graydon, crouching before him as though he had backache. Graydon soon discovered this was because of his feet, which, unlike his, each had two long finger-like toes. He had three large fingers on each of his hands, blue fur that covered his entire body, yellow eyes that shone like a cat's, and a long tail that curved and swirled behind him.

"My apologies for startling you, Herr…?" the demon spoke with a German accent, startling him even further.

"This is Mr. Graydon Creed," Xavier answered for him. "He is Mr. Logan's friend. Mr. Logan aka Wolverine is the one you will be working with." He pointed at the man in question who gave them all a nod, but said nothing. "While Mr. Creed is not an active member of the X-Men, he will be staying here with us. I have promised to work with him on some…personal issues."

"And what is his…" the man, who Graydon later learned was called Sunfire, was starting to ask.

"If you're referring to his mutant abilities, then the answer to that is none. Mr. Creed is an ordinary human."

Sunfire and one of the others, Thunderbird, seemed almost outraged at that.

"If he has no powers then why is he…?"

"As I said," Xavier interrupted them, "he is here as a guest, and is close friends with Wolverine. I ask that you treat him as you would any other team-member. If this is a problem then you are welcome to leave."

Sunfire and Thunderbird said nothing, but continued to give Graydon hard looks that looked to him like they were basically telling him "You have no powers so you're useless to us".

The blue-furred one, however, was more polite and gave him a friendly smile. "Greetings, Herr Creed. My name is Kurt Wagner, but everyone calls me…" he paused, as though for a dramatic emphasis, "…Nightcrawler!"

Graydon just cocked one of his eyebrows at him, while Logan just laughed. "Nice to meet ya, elf," he told him, holding up his hand in his own way of saying hello.

Graydon smiled politely, taking the blue mutant's hand in his own and shaking it. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wagger," he said, accidentally mispronouncing the man's last name.

Nightcrawler smiled back, "Likewise…Mr. _Greed_." He said, intentionally mispronouncing his. Graydon just continued smiling, this time for genuine.

Xavier waved to the rest of them. "The others here are Shiro Yoshida from Japan, also known as Sunfire, and John Proudstar aka Thunderbird from Arizona…" he pointed to them in turn, and each gave him a hard but polite nod. "And this is Sean Cassidy, aka Banshee, a good friend of ours from Ireland."

The next man he pointed to, who was dressed in an odd green and yellow outfit, smiled and gave him a salute. "How do, lad," he said in an Irish accent.

"And this is Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin, alias Colossus, from Russia," Xavier continued.

Graydon looked to his left, and had to crane his head all the way up to look at the face of a very large and muscle-bound man, not much older than he.

"Very pleased to meet you, comrade," the man called Colossus said in a proud Russian accent, offering him his hand in friendship. "I hope we are to be good friends, da?"

Graydon took his hand…or rather Colossus took his, as his hand was so huge it completely engulfed his. "I hope so, too," he replied, and added mentally, 'I'd hate to be an enemy to a guy as big as this.'

"And finally," Xavier concluded. "This is Miss Ororo Munroe, alias Storm, from Africa."

Graydon looked back to his right, and couldn't help but gape.

The figure before him was a stunningly beautiful dark-skinned woman, with snow-white hair and bright blue eyes. She was dressed in a black outfit with a gold rim, and a dark tiara decorating her head.

"A pleasure," was all he could manage to say, taking her hand and gently shaking it.

She gave him a smile, and he felt the temperature go up.

0000000000

**Present: **

The team was brought together to help save the original X-Men, and then afterwards help them start a new X-Men altogether. The rescue mission had been a success, and the mutant heroes were saved.

After everyone had recovered, they started working together, and Graydon had begun his sessions with Professor Xavier.

Even without his telepathic abilities, Xavier was a brilliant doctor, but with them he was beyond amazing. His first session had him visit the earliest memories of his childhood. He saw himself as a baby being held by his father, and later when he was four and being shaken and slapped by him, followed by when those bullies at school had mysteriously disappeared and his father going out late at night with the large bags. The day when the social worker came to their house, and then she too disappeared, and…

Graydon gasped, as the memory of that session hit him. Well, it wasn't the memory of the session itself that startled him, but the memory he had uncovered _in_ his session.

Xavier had wanted to try and understand more about the relationship between him and his late father, so he had used his telepathy to visit Graydon's earlier memories. It had seemed harmless at first, as Graydon didn't think he had anything to hide. Logan had most likely told Xavier everything he suspected about his dad anyway, so why hide anything.

He had never suspected he would find a memory he didn't even remember.

0000000000

**Seven Years Ago:**

"Relax," the Professor told him. "Try and think back to your earliest memory."

Graydon sighed, as he lay down on the couch in Xavier's study.

"_Think of the first thing that comes to your mind." _Xavier said in his mind, making him jump. He would never get used to people talking in his head!

He frowned, and the first thing that came to him was when he was five, the day the lady social worker came to his home. His father chopping the firewood outside by the barn…

"_**AAAARRGHHH!"**_a woman's scream sounded in his head, and he felt himself overcome with the urge to run and hide.

"_Be calm!"_ Xavier told him sternly. _"That was only one of your memories resurfacing in your mind." _

"I don't remember anything about a woman screaming!" he said aloud, still breathing heavily.

"_Think back to what you were thinking about before. You thought of something concerning your father, him chopping firewood, a woman who came to see you…" _

Graydon thought back, but nothing came to mind.

"I can't..." he started to say.

"_The old barn at your house…"_ Xavier finished.

[FLASH]

Graydon felt his mind tilt, and a barrage of images flooded through his head. He saw the old barn at his house, his dad outside chopping, the social worker who he remembered now being called Miss Jenkins, the car she had come to their house the first day and again on the… Blood!

"STOP IT!" Graydon shouted, springing up from the couch, nearly knocking Xavier over in his wheelchair. After a few minutes of breathing, he shuddered. "What the hell was that?" he demanded.

Xavier wheeled over to him. "I believe what you experienced just now was a repressed memory," he said in his usual voice. "A memory from your childhood that was too painful for you to remember, and so your mind had buried it deep within your subconscious. Our session here has awakened it."

"What could I know that would make me want to forget it?" he demanded.

Xavier paused. "I'm afraid the only way to know that...is for us to venture further into your mind, and see for ourselves."

He clenched his fists. "Is…is that dangerous?"

"Not physically, no, but… Graydon, whatever this memory is…it must have been something truly traumatic for your mind to repress it so, to make you forget it completely. There's no telling what uncovering it may do."

"I'm not a kid, Prof," he said quietly. "I'm not scared of anything, especially one of my own memories."

"I'm not saying you are, but…"

"Just go in and unblock whatever's in there!" Graydon snarled.

Xavier looked at him for a few moments, and then sighed, seemingly accepting the futility of it all. "Very well, but I warn you…un-repressing lost memories can often be traumatic for even the hardest of men."

Graydon didn't answer, and just lay back down, waiting.

After a few more moments, he felt Xavier's own mind re-entering his. _"Think back to what you were thinking about before," _the Professor's mental voice repeating what he said earlier._ "You saw your father chopping firewood; a woman came to see you, the barn…" _

[FLASH]

Graydon once more felt his mind tilt, and then…he saw…

_Himself, five years old, at his old house in Canada, where he had lived with his daddy. The lady from social services had just come back, she and daddy had been yelling at each other, his daddy then telling him to get inside and wait. _

_He'd waited, there was no more shouting. Was she gone? _

_He went to the front door, but could see the lady's car, so she had to be still there. But where was she? _

_He curiously went outside, walked into the yard, but could see no one, not even his daddy. Where was everyone? _

"_AAAARRGHHH!"_

_A loud scream came from the barn. It wasn't his daddy, as the scream sounded like that of a lady. Was it Miss Jenkins? _

_He walked over to the door of the barn. He was about to push it open, when all of a sudden… _

_The door sprang open, and his daddy was standing before him. He wasn't wearing his shirt, which probably meant he was working again, or getting ready to go hunting. _

_Graydon noticed his claws, which were now a dark red colour, probably meaning he had been slaughtering some of the livestock again. The other thing, he also noticed, was the terribly angry expression on his daddy's face, as he snarled down at him, "What the fuck are you doing here?" _

"_I was just…" he stammered. _

"_I told you to wait inside!" his daddy snarled again. "Get back in there and don't come out till I say so!" _

"_But…" _

"_NOW!" _

_He turned and raced back over to the house, but when he was halfway there he turned and looked back, just in time to see his daddy go back inside the barn. _

_Too curious to go back inside, Graydon hurried back over to the barn, but kept silent as he crept over to the side where he knew there was a hole in the wall he could spy through. _

_He peeked through and saw his daddy. He was grinning. Why was he grinning, and what was he grinning at? _

_Graydon tilted his head at the hole, getting a better look. There were a lot of clothes on the floor, but they didn't look like his daddy's. His daddy never wore pink. Why… _

_Then he saw her. The lady, Miss Jenkins, was lying on the floor with a lot of scratches on her, and…why was she so red? _

"_Now then," his daddy said, stepping closer to her with his claws rising. "Where were we?" _

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" Graydon screamed, as he broke contact with Xavier, practically flinging himself from the couch.

Xavier was with him in an instant, hurrying his wheelchair up to him and laying a comforting arm on his shoulder. "I think we now know why you repressed this memory," he said, stating the obvious.

"He…I don't…" he stuttered. "My dad…he did that…I-I-I…" He shuddered. "I don't remember what…"

He couldn't remember what had happened beyond his dad saying "Where were we?" and going to Miss Jenkins. The memory ended there.

"I broke mental contact with you before you could finish the memory," Xavier explained, reading his mind. "I think we can guess what happened thereafter, and if not then even better." He kept his hand on Graydon's shoulder. "Some memories are better left buried."

"He killed her," Graydon said silently. "Right after he…"

Xavier nodded. "From what I've been told, your father killed a lot of people in his life, and worse."

Graydon shut his eyes, shedding bitter tears. Logan had, of course, told him all about his dad's so-called career…a mercenary, assassin and demented maniac who loved to kill for money and pleasure.

Despite knowing that Logan wouldn't lie to him, and knowing from what he did remember of his dad that it seemed very like him, he had always held out some hope that it was all untrue. That maybe the man they all described and his dad were not the same guy, that there was a mistake.

Now that dream was shattered. He knew the truth about what kind of man his father had truly been.

Xavier looked at him in pity. "Logan told me that your father had a…_complicated_ past. He had been mistreated a lot, and when you add that to his mutation…it's really no wonder he turned out damaged."

Graydon just continued to look scared. "Will that happen with me?"

"Only if you let it, Graydon. You are not a mutant, so you have nothing to fear in that respect. But everything else, your fears, your anger…that can only be overcome with self-control."

"What if I'm not strong enough?"

"One voice can be stronger than a thousand voices," Xavier said, looking sternly at him. "Do not sell yourself short. Look at all you have accomplished in the last few years. Many would have lost their minds by now, but you have not."

Graydon gave a small smile, feeling reassured by the Professor's words, yet he could still feel the cold dread deep within him.

0000000000

**Present: **

Needless to say, the experience had been a troubling one for him. A great part of him would be happy just forgetting all about that day and acting like it had never happened. Xavier had even agreed, offering to wipe his memory for him if he wished.

He had been tempted, but the thought of having someone play jigsaw with his memories was…unnerving. So he had declined, but he had accepted his offer of repressing the memory back to the deepest parts of his mind, so that he could think of it as little as possible.

The rest of his sessions had not been as eventful, but were just as important. After what had happened, Xavier had been apprehensive and more careful with visiting lost moments of his life. But they had gotten through the worst of it, and Graydon had gradually managed to get his life on track. The Professor's sessions and the moral support of Logan and his new-found friends at the institute had helped.

The memories were still there, but they no longer ruled his life. He still had the odd temper tantrum, but no more than most people.

After the Professor declared he was in his own mind again, Graydon had asked to remain at the institute. Although he was no mutant, he was definitely no weakling, as made evident by a training session he had once taken part in with Thunderbird. Graydon had thoroughly thrashed him.

He paused at the thought of John Proudstar, the man who had been the most stubborn (apart from Logan), the most ill-mannered and volatile member of the X-Men…and yet the most courageous.

He had not taken his defeat in their sparing match well, and had demanded a rematch once they returned from their next mission…which he never did.

The poor guy had been so obsessed with proving his bravery as an Apache warrior that he had leapt onto a plane that was carrying a villain they were after. Despite everyone's insistence, he had refused to get off the plane, believing he could capture the villain and prove his worth.

The plane had exploded, killing him.

Graydon remembered when everyone had returned from the mission and first hearing about his death. He had been angry for hours, blaming John's death on his own headstrong action, only to break down and cry for his friend. Yes, the guy had driven him and everyone else crazy a lot of times…but he had still been their friend…_his_ friend.

That had been one of the few times when he had been glad he wasn't allowed to go on missions with the rest of the X-Men.

But even though he was not an active member of them, he still did much for the X-Men. He ended up helping out with the new students who came to them, particularly the more troubled and difficult ones, as he had experience with some of the problems they were having. He talked to them, offered them a shoulder to cry on, and became a counsellor of all things. He even helped out around the mansion with tasks such as maintenance on the Danger Room, or anywhere else he was needed.

Over the years he had developed quite a talent in understanding and talking to troubled people, which was good. One of the X-Men's worst times was during what everyone called 'The Morlock Massacre'. It was a traumatic time when the Morlocks, mutant that lived apart from society in the tunnels beneath New York City, were attacked and almost completely slaughtered by a group of demented killers calling themselves the 'Marauders'. Graydon still had nightmares about that night when the X-Men had returned, Nightcrawler had been in a coma and Kitty had lost control of her phasing abilities, almost ceasing to exist.

Out of all the X-Men, Nightcrawler was his closest friend. He wasn't sure why, but from the moment they had met, he felt as if they had a connection. In a short time he had come to care for Kurt as he would care for a brother.

"_Graydon!" _Logan's voice shouted over the intercom.

"Yeah?" he answered, shook out of his thoughts. "What's…?"

"_Call a lockdown! Get everyone who's here on alert! And whatever you do, don't…!" _

There was a sudden crash and a glurking noise.

"Logan!" Graydon called. "Logan, what's going on?"

"_I'd heard you'd gone soft, runt!"_ a voice, sounding even rougher than Logan's, came over the com-line. _"That makes this all the easier…" _

Graydon's mind went blank, and he felt his heart seem to stop beating. From the sound of it, the owner of the voice was talking to Logan, and probably did not even know he was listening in.

It had been many years since he had last heard that voice, but he still remembered it as though it were yesterday.

His voice came out in a low whisper, the one word he was trying to speak felt like it was trapped in his throat.

"Dad…"

0000000000

**Few Minutes Earlier: **

Logan/Wolverine made his way outside the mansion, his keen nose sniffing the air and his sharp ears listening for any sound of an intruder. So far, there was nothing and he was about to bleep his communicator to let Graydon know, but then…

What was that?

It sounded like a rustling coming from one of the bushes. It was too loud a sound to be an animal like a rabbit, so he walked over.

He kept his hands out in front of him, fists clenched, ready to pop out his claws at a second's notice if needed. He moved stealthily around the grounds, but still could see nothing. He was about to relax and go back in, thinking it to be no more than a rabbit after all, when…he got a scent!

"No…" His eye got wide, as he recognised the scent instantly. "It's…"

A loud roar suddenly sounded behind him, and he spun round just in time to see a giant clawed fist slam into him.

"Impossible?" Sabretooth's voice roared at him, almost mockingly. "Nothing's impossible, runt! Even _I_ know that!"

Wolverine rolled to his feet, blinking the blood out of his eyes. Sabretooth had slashed his face badly, and only his healing factor was keeping him up. The wounds were already starting to close, but he doubted that Sabretooth would give him a chance to recover.

He was soon proven right, as what was supposed to be his _late_ enemy charged at him, his talons unsheathed for clawing. "Should've known it was too easy," Logan mused. "Killing you never was an easy road."

Sabretooth snarled. "Yeah, that's me! Like a cockroach! Only a hundred times harder to kill!"

"And a million times uglier," Wolverine shot back, unsheathing his own claws.

Sabretooth snarled, leaping at him. They punched, slashed and kicked each other a few times before leaping away and circling one another.

"So how'd you do it?" Wolverine asked casually, his claws trained. "How'd you come back from the dead, bub? I sliced your head clean off… Out of all the ways to die in this world, I would've thought that'd be one of the sure ways to guarantee the Grim Reaper satisfaction, for either of us."

"Yeah, well, guess the Reaper's a hard guy to please!" Sabretooth roared, leaping into the air and coming down on him. Wolverine leaped out of the way at the last second, just as Sabretooth landed on the ground with a loud thud, his claws buried deep into the earth.

"Seriously though," Wolverine continued. Their feud had lasted so long that to them this was no more than a mere walk in the park. "What you do? Make a pact with the devil or something?"

"Hardly!"

"Then how?"

Sabretooth grinned and pointed at his neck. "You cut me good, runt…but not good enough! You left my head hanging on just by my skin. That was just enough for my healing to do its job. Took a bitch of a while to do, but eventually my head literally healed itself back onto my shoulders." He gave another snarl. "Course, it didn't help being buried! I had to dig my way out. Took fuckin forever!"

Wolverine just gave him an emotionless look. "Boo…hoo," was all he said, and then he made another leap at him. "How'd you find me?"

"Same as you when you were tracking me. Kept my eyes and ears open, checked for any news about a guy with claws, looked up every contact I had to see if they had spotted you. For years, no dice! Then I found out you'd gone to Tibet, so I went to look for ya. Took me another few years to find where you'd gone, and living in that backwater village didn't help either! Only to find you'd gone and moved after all that!"

Wolverine grinned, as he avoided another of his swipes. "Sorry to give you the run around, bub," he said sarcastically.

Sabretooth growled, grabbing him around the neck. "After I slit a few necks in that village of yours, I learned you came back over here, and I spent another few years looking. Didn't know you'd moved to the states at first. Thought you would've gone back home to Canada. Finally, some old contacts of mine heard you were here doing some moonlighting for these X-buddies of yours."

He gave another snarl. "You would not believe how many good contracts I had to miss out on because of you, runt! How many sweet deals I had to say no to because I was too busy looking!"

"You went through all that for me," Wolverine said breathlessly, smirking despite Sabretooth's crushing grip on his throat. "Aww, I'm touched."

Sabretooth then laughed. "You? HA!" He slammed him into the ground. "You're a bonus, I admit, but nothing more than that!" Still holding him, he lifted him into the air, whirled him around a couple of times before releasing and throwing him clear across the garden and into the stone-wall.

"I'd heard you'd gone soft, runt!" he grunted. "That makes this all the more easier!"

Wolverine struggled to get up, blood pouring out his mouth. "So I wasn't the object of your attention then," he coughed. "I'm hurt. But if I wasn't, then who…"

"I just want what's mine, Logan," Sabretooth said simply, giving him a cold stare, "what's _rightfully_ mine."

"What are you talking about?"

Sabretooth roared, racing back up to him, and smashed him right through the wall, going through with him. He picked him up by the shoulders, pinning his arms to his sides, holding him high above him.

"DON'T FUCKIN' PLAY DUMB WITH ME, LOGAN! JUST TELL ME WHERE HE IS!"

Wolverine opened his swollen eye, looking down at him.

"Where is he? WHERE'S MY BOY?" Sabretooth roared.

At that moment, Wolverine sprang out his claws, stabbing them into Sabretooth's shoulder, making him drop him in surprise.

"Since when have you ever cared about anyone or anything, Creed?" he demanded.

"The boy's mine!" Sabretooth growled. "Enough said!"

"The _boy_ is 27 years old now! He's got a life of his own, here at the school. He doesn't want or need the kind of life you have."

"He is my blood!" Sabretooth snarled. "Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood and all that! He is mine, and I keep what's mine!"

"He's not a dog or an ornament you can purchase!" Wolverine jumped and slashed at him. "He's a man with his own mind! He can make his own decisions!"

"Then he can make them with me!" Sabretooth raced at him, his wounds quickly healing, but the pain his arms caused him made him more susceptible to Wolverine's attacks.

Wolverine leaped and kicked, slamming his foot into Sabretooth's chin, sending him falling onto his back.

"I know what kind of life you intended for him, Creed," Wolverine said heavily. "That life isn't for him, not now and not ever again!" He raised his fist, his claws springing out yet again.

"_Stand down!"_ a feminine voice demanded of him.

"Huh?"

He didn't have a chance to wonder who the voice belonged to, when he suddenly felt a hard slam to the head, followed by dozens of smaller ones to various areas around his body. He was out before he even hit the ground.

As he lay sprawled on the ground, blood pouring out of the multiple gun-hits, a figure walked up behind him. The figure was a seemingly young woman, carrying a huge firearm that was even bigger than she was. The casings inside must have been the size of a small football.

It had been one of those that had hit Logan in the head, resulting in most of the flesh from his head being burned and seared off. It was only thanks to his healing factor that he still lived. She could already see the flesh beginning to grow back over his now exposed skull, which was the reason why she had also hit him with a dozen other bullets from her second smaller gun.

"You okay, boss?" she asked Sabretooth, her long mass of thick blonde hair waving behind her.

"Yeah," he said, coming up to his full height and stretching his arms out, as they fully recovered from Logan's stab-wounds. "Just the thing to get the ol' blood goin, Birdy!"

The woman, Birdy, spared Logan another glance, ensuring he was down.

Sabretooth had tracked her down years ago, hiring her for her telepathic abilities. She didn't need telepathy to tell her that saying no to this guy would be the last thing she would ever do, so she had accepted. As long as she did what he told her, life was sweet. Not to mention she got to handle all the cool big guns!

Her telepathy was nowhere near Charles Xavier's range, but it was adequate for Sabretooth's needs. She could distort certain frequencies, making her ideal for whenever he needed to break into somewhere. That was how they had been able to get into the mansion grounds undetected. And her telepathy could also manipulate a person's senses, though not to a great level, which was how she managed to hide Sabretooth and herself from Wolverine's keen senses. Unfortunately, that trick never lasted long, as made evident when Wolverine had finally locked onto Sabretooth's scent.

"What now, boss?" she asked. Sabretooth had told her they were coming here tonight for the specific reason of retrieving his _boy_. But he never mentioned they'd be attacking what appeared to be a school, and not just any school, but one that was full of mutants!

Sabretooth didn't answer her at first, as he just stood where he was, wiping some of the blood from his hands. Then he stopped; his nose up in the air as he sniffed.

He smiled. "Birdy…say hello."

She instantly turned around, arming her gun, expecting another attack. Instead, she found a man in his mid to late twenties, well built, wearing a dark shirt and jeans.

She gazed keenly at his face. His hair was a light brown, brown eyes and a dark expression that he wore with them. She had seen those eyes before, or at least the expression that was in them, having worked with them for the last few years.

"There's definitely something in the face," she mused aloud, but Sabretooth ignored her.

"Well, well," he said, smiling. "If it ain't my darlin' baby boy finally come home to his daddy!"

Graydon said nothing, as he stood where he was, staring darkly at the man he thought had been dead for years.

"What do you say, boy?" Sabretooth said, his smile revealing his long pointy fangs, as he spread his arms widely. _"Come to poppa!" _

**To Be Continued…**

_Notes: _

_To know more about how the original X-Men started, go buy the comic "__Giant-Size X-Men # 1". _


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: **

_**I do not own any of Marvel's characters. This isn't for profit, but fun! **_

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**X-Mansion: **

Graydon could do nothing except stand there and stare at his father, newly returned from the dead, as he stood before him with his arms spread wide. He was wearing his old brown and orange suit, which he obviously must have since replaced.

"Dad?" he managed to breathe out.

His dad continued to smile, but it was no longer a wide-open smile. Graydon remembered how that was always a sign that his dad was starting to get tense.

Not knowing what else to do, he walked forward to him. The distance between them was nowhere near far enough, as far as he was concerned. He soon reached him.

Sabretooth lowered his arms as soon as he did, just as Graydon knew he would. 'Only women hug' had been one of the first lessons his dad had taught him.

He also remembered something else.

Sabretooth gripped Graydon's head by both sides, tilting his head back so that he could look right into his eyes. He then pressed his nose right into his, sniffing him, once more re-enacting their old greeting.

Graydon automatically responded the way he had done when he was a child, sniffing him back, starting at the nose and then moving down to the side of his neck. The stench of blood and sweat was making him gag now as much as it had done when he was a kid.

"I thought you were dead," he whispered.

Sabretooth snorted. "Like everyone else it seems."

Graydon looked behind him, seeing Logan's body lying on the ground behind them, wincing as he saw the state he was in. He knew, though, that Logan's healing factor would be able to repair the damage, as he could see it was now doing. He just had to stall.

"Where have you been, dad?" he asked.

Sabretooth shrugged. "Here and there," he replied simply, patting his shoulders.

"Searching everywhere for you," the blonde woman at the side added.

Sabretooth turned to shoot her an angry glare. "Keep. Your. Trap. _Shut_!" he growled.

Graydon just looked at the woman holding a gun that looked as if a giant had designed it. "Excuse me, but who are you?"

"Name's Birdy," she introduced herself, giving an exaggerated bow before him. "Your dad's assistant."

Graydon cocked an eyebrow in surprise. "Since when do you take on assistants?"

Sabretooth growled. "Never you mind!" he said, grabbing his arm. "Come on! We're outta here!"

"Outta here?" he said, surprised. "Where?"

"Home. Everything's sorted, so just come on."

Memories of the last time his dad had told him to get ready to leave came back to him, as Graydon just standing where he was.

"Well," his dad noted impatiently. "What are you waiting for?"

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me?" he said, crossing his arms. "Where exactly is it I'm supposed to be going?"

Sabretooth growled. "With me, of course! Don't forget, boy, I'm still your dad! You go where I tell you to go, and do what I tell you to do!"

The sight of his father's huge imposing figure still terrified him to no end, but at the same time his voice was sending waves of anger through him. "I'm not a child, _dad_!" he hissed through his teeth. "You can't treat me like I am, not anymore. This is my life, and I've made one for myself here."

Sabretooth stared down at his son in what looked like for one moment in total disbelief. Then he smiled. "So, my darlin' baby boy's gone and grown himself a pair, has he?"

He said nothing, and just held his ground, staring back at his father.

"Very good, boy," Sabretooth said, seemingly praising him. "_Very_ good!"

[POW!]

Graydon fell to the ground unconscious.

"But as I told you before," Sabretooth said while rubbing his clenched fist. "_Never_ say no to me!"

Birdy stood staring in shock at the pair of them. "Boss…" she began hesitantly. "You just…I mean…"

"Yes?"

She blinked. "Why? Why'd you knock him out?"

He shrugged. "Kid wouldn't come with me. Same way I'd treat any other person who did that, Birdy."

"Yes, but…he's your son!"

Sabretooth grimaced. "Only makes this all the more intense!" he growled. "Come on! Time to go home. I wanna get out of here before those X-punks figure out we're here. Move it!"

With that, he flung Graydon over his shoulder and headed off. Birdy stared at his retreating back for a few moments before finally sighing and going after him.

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"_Logan…Logan…"_

The voice seemed most insistent on speaking to him, but all Logan really wanted to do was sleep.

"_Logan!" _

He growled, hoping whomever it was would get the message and leave him the hell alone.

Someone started shaking his shoulder, so obviously the answer was no.

"Aw hell, can't no one take a hint?" Logan snarled, feeling himself drift back into consciousness.

"Logan, snap out of it!" a German accented voice told him.

Groaning, he blinked his eyes back into focus until a blue-furred face soon filled his vision. "Elf?" he said.

"Yes, Logan," Nightcrawler replied. "Please, regain your senses. Can you tell me what happened here?"

He frowned. "My head," he groaned again. "It's still throbbing like mad!"

"Not surprising, mein friend," Nightcrawler answered. "When I found you, you looked as though half your body had been blown away. Your body was, and still is, recovering from whatever attacked you. Most of your skin has already regenerated, and you actually have a full head now."

"Brilliant," he mumbled, touching his forehead. "What are you doing out here anyway?"

"I was in the Danger Room, along with Graydon. He was in the Control Room overseeing my session. After a while I noticed that he had left. I thought at first that he had just gone for a snack or something, but when he didn't return I got worried. I looked around and eventually found you here; looking like you had just been through WWIII."

'Graydon,' he thought, frowning deeply as his thoughts went back, searching through his memories and…

'GRAYDON!'

His eyes widened, as his daze broke and he struggled to his feet. "Contact the rest of the X-Men now!" he told Kurt. "We got major trouble!"

"All the others are out on missions," Nightcrawler reported. "Professor Xavier is at a conference discussing mutant rights, but I can get him on the phone."

Logan snarled. "Then get ready, elf! We're going on a hunt!"

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**Unknown Location;**

**Two Hours Later: **

Graydon moaned, as he slowly came to, his head throbbing like mad.

"Ouch," he mumbled, rubbing his sore jaw.

"You shouldn't move too soon," a sweet voice told him. Looking up, he saw the young woman who had been with his father.

"I'm sure your dad didn't mean to, but he can often hit harder than he intended," she said, and walked slowly toward him. As Graydon started to feel apprehensive, she stopped and held up her hands to him. "I mean no harm. Let me help."

He looked around, finding himself in what looked like a motel room. The walls were wooden and bare, not even a corny picture, and the carpet a dirty red colour. He was lying on a mattress placed on the floor.

He looked at the woman suspiciously, but finally he beckoned her to come forward. He momentarily thought about trying to take her hostage to try and escape, but then thought better against that. His dad was more likely to let him kill her than respond to any demands.

"You're right about that," she, he recalled her name was Birdy, said, as she came forth. She reached into her pocket and brought out a small cloth.

"I'm sorry?"

"You were thinking maybe taking me hostage, to see if you could get your dad to release you." She dabbed at his head with the cloth, which came away with blood on it.

'Guess it would have been too much for him to take care of my injuries while I was out cold.'

"Your father is…a difficult man," Birdy added. "And yes, my name is Birdy. Nice to meet you, _Graydon_."

"You're a telepath," he deduced, looking at her sternly. "You know, reading other people's minds without their permission is considered an invasion of privacy."

"And you're the right man to declare that?" she scoffed.

"Actually, my friend Professor Xavier does. He's a telepath, too, and quite a powerful one at that."

Birdy shrugged. "Yes, I've heard of Xavier. Any half-descent telepath knows about him."

"And he never invades another person's mind unless there's no other option," he said adamantly. "Having power and knowing when to use it are two entirely different things!"

Birdy just shrugged again, but said nothing and continued dabbing his head.

"Why are you with my dad anyway?" he then asked.

"It's better than being dead," she replied casually.

He shrugged. "Can't deny that. I went through the same thing myself…the first twelve years of my life actually."

"He does care for you, you know," she said quietly.

"Care is a word my dad has no comprehension of," he replied sadly.

"I'm not convinced of that yet. He's spent years trying to find you and bring you home. That isn't the kind of thing that someone who doesn't care would do."

He sighed. "Maybe…but nevertheless, my dad still doesn't know the meaning of the word. If you knew half of the stuff he put me through when I was growing up…"

She gently touched his head. "If you let me in, I _can_ know."

"Pardon?"

She stroked his brow. "Your dad hired me for several things, Graydon. My skill with a gun is just one of them. But it was my telepathy he was really after."

"Yeah, I figured. What, you mind-blast his targets, giving him a chance to finish them off?"

"I don't do mind-blasts. I can enter another person's mind, alter their perception a little, and disrupt radio frequencies, but that's about it. The stuff with the guns is just my hobby. Nothing to do with my mutancy. Besides, Mr. Creed rarely takes me on any of his assignments. He prefers doing them solely."

"Sounds like him. But what were you doing at the mansion then?"

"Mr. Creed didn't want to take any chances. He wanted to ensure he got you above all else."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Graydon couldn't help but feel a warm glow of appreciation and worth from knowing that his father had tried his utmost to reclaim him. That didn't change anything though!

"What do you mean by letting you in?"

She smiled. "The main reason Mr. Creed hired me is because I can give him relief."

"_Relief_?"

She nodded. "For the last few years, Mr. Creed has been suffering severe fits of rage, causing him to lose control. That was the reason why he'd come looking for a telepath."

"That's nothing new," he said, shrugging. "My dad's always had fits of rage."

"These are more than just mere fits though. In them, he loses complete control of himself. He becomes something like rage incarnated, attacking anything and everything in sight with no goal, no plan or anything. The last time he suffered one of these attacks, he nearly wiped out a small town."

"So how do you help him then?" he asked suspiciously.

"I supply him with The Glow."

"The what?"

"The Glow. It's what Mr. Creed calls it. It basically involves me going into his mind and sorting out his darkest memories, pushing them to the back of his mind, making him more lucid and in control."

"He has you do _that_?" He stared at her aghast. The thought of going through his dad's memories was terrifying. Over the years, he had spoken to Logan, asking him about what he knew about his dad and his past. Everything that he had told him had not been pleasant!

"It's necessary," Birdy said, looking at him in sympathy. "If you knew half of what he's been through in his life…the pain, the torture…it was heart wrenching!"

"I know about his past," he replied. "He went through a nightmare childhood no one should go through, and I doubt his mutant powers helped either. But it doesn't justify everything he's done, or the monster he's become!"

"You've become judgemental in your later years, boy," Sabretooth's harsh voice came out of the darkness. "I didn't raise you that way, did I?"

Graydon stiffened, but just said, "Hello, dad".

Sabretooth walked out of the shadows, his face as always grim. He was no longer wearing his _business suit_, and instead wore a white t-shirt and jeans. No shoes, of course.

"Birdy, get out," he growled.

The telepath got up after sparing Graydon one final look, and departed from the room. She no doubt knew Sabretooth's temper all too well, and obeyed his orders without question.

Once she was gone, Sabretooth walked up and stood before him, looking down on him from his impressive height. Graydon wouldn't be at all surprised if he was doing this solely to enforce his own superiority over him.

He rubbed his jawbone. "You never hit me before," he stated quietly.

"Awww," his dad cooed at him like he was still in diapers. "Did I hurt baby's jaw?" His face then took on a more serious tone. "Get over it! You're a man now, Graydon, and pain is a big part of life. Accept it!"

"You don't have to tell me that," he thinned his eyes at him. "I remember your lessons in that subject all too well, God help me."

"That's good," Sabretooth said, smiling. "It's nice to know the runt didn't suck all the intelligence out of you."

Graydon didn't need to ask who "runt" was. "If you mean Logan, he has actually been a good teacher to me all these years."

Sabretooth scoffed. "Teacher of what… Love? Kindness? Keeping your temper?" He made a gagging sound, like he was about to sick. "Don't make me lose my lunch! The only thing that runt has taught you is how to be weak!"

"That is not true!" Graydon shouted. "Logan taught me martial arts, how to respect nature, the importance of hard work and…"

"Blah-blah-blah," Sabretooth waved his hand at him. "Like I said, nothing but lessons meant for weak willed old women and sniffling babies. You were a hell of a lot stronger when you were with me."

Graydon stared at him. "Possibly," he admitted. "But at least with him I have kept my sanity."

Sabretooth turned to stare at him. "What?"

"With Logan and the X-Men, they have taught me how to control my anger and rage, to help others. But with you…" He glared at him. "All your _lessons_ were about how to embrace my anger, to keep building it up inside of me until I was ready to explode. Because of you, I nearly killed more than a few kids while I was growing up, and frightened many more!"

"My point exactly!" his dad shot back. "Remember your first day at school? When those kids picked on you, leaving you a sniffling baby with bruises? After I was through with you, no one ever raised a hand to you again, did they?"

"No one ever wanted to be friends with me either! I was a mini-terrorist and psychopath. Like father like son!"

At first, he regretted his last words, but after looking at his father's face, any qualms he had soon melted away. "But that was your intention all along, wasn't it?" he noted bitterly, looking at him. "You put me through all those exercises of yours, teaching me how to fight, torture and murder…all for the specific reason of making me into another _you_."

His dad said nothing, but just continued staring at him, those wild eyes of his forever terrifying Graydon.

When the silence lasted for more than several minutes, Graydon, slowly going mad by his father's insistent stare, spoke up again. "What do you want from me?" he demanded.

"Isn't that obvious?" Sabretooth said, seemingly surprised. "I want you home, with me."

"My home isn't with you, dad. It hasn't been for years now." He didn't turn away. "My home is…"

"IT'S WITH ME!" Sabretooth suddenly roared, and slammed his hands on either side of Graydon's head. This time, Graydon did jump, startled by his dad's outburst.

"YOU ARE MY SON!" Sabretooth continued roaring, his voice so loud it was screaming through his head. "YOU BELONG TO ME! _MY_ BLOOD FLOWS IN YOUR VEINS, _I_ RAISED YOU, _I_ GAVE YOU YOUR FIRST HOME, _I_ TOOK CARE OF YOU, TAUGHT YOU…YOUR PLACE IS WITH _ME_!"

Graydon couldn't help but cringe, wanting very much to crawl back and hide.

Sabretooth then did something unexpected, and grabbed him by his head. At first, he thought he had finally had enough and was going to twist his head off, but then…he started sniffing him.

It was then that he realised that his dad was simply doing their old greeting again. But this time, Graydon did not respond. He stayed sitting where he was, still as a statue, as his dad gripped and sniffed his face. That seemed to make Sabretooth mad, as he began tightening his hold on his head, squeezing it to crushing point.

Just when he thought he was going crack his skull like an egg, his dad pushed him back, knocking him into the wall behind him and stormed off.

"BIRDY!" he continued screaming as he left. "I NEED THE GLOW, _NOW_!"

The moment he left the room, slamming the door behind him, Graydon slumped on the mattress he was lying on, his eyes staring at nothing around him.

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Sabretooth felt the soothing touch of Birdy's Glow, as she reached into his mind, pushing back his darkest memories. He didn't know why this was happening. It had just suddenly started for no apparent reason.

Birdy had a theory that perhaps after so many years of his kind of _work_, it had finally grown too much for his head to cope with, and it was practically bursting. The rage fits were just his body's way of trying to release some of the pressure.

"Sounds like shrink mumbo jumbo to me," he had told her, and still stood by what he said.

As Birdy finished her session with him, he gave a low sigh, his thoughts for the moment calm.

"What are you going to do now?" she suddenly asked him.

"About what?"

"Him," she indicated the door to the room where Graydon was being kept. "He doesn't seem intent on staying, does he?" She was actually surprised that the guy hadn't been chained up or anything, and wondered why he didn't try and escape, or why Sabretooth wasn't worried about him trying such.

She didn't realise that Graydon remembered very clearly his dad and his abilities, and that running away from him was both impossible…and stupid.

Sabretooth gave a low growl. "Don't matter what he or you says. He's staying! End of debate!"

"Oh, but…" she started to say.

"CREED!"

Sabretooth had only a second to wonder how Logan had managed to track him down, when the door to the motel room they were staying in crashed open.

Logan snarled, brandishing his sprung claws at him. "Let's dance!"

Sabretooth roared, and raced at him.

Birdy jumped up to get her gun, which was lying by the side of the bed where they had been sitting, but just as she had reached it…

"Uh uh uhhh," an accented voice spoke, following a puff of red smoke together with the disgusting smell of brimstone. "You do not want to do that, fraulein. Believe me."

She gasped, as a three-fingered hand reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, and she looked into the glowing yellow eyes of what she could almost mistake for a demon staring at her.

"My advice to you would be to simply leave. From my expert opinion, you do not want to get in-between those two when they fight."

She looked at where Sabretooth and the man called Wolverine were still fighting, clawing each other, drawing blood and flesh with each strike, their roars filling the night.

As she watched, Nightcrawler lifted her gun from the floor with his tail, and quickly emptied it of all its shell-casings. "Now, if you would be so kind as to tell me where I might find my friend?" he asked politely, despite the hard look he was giving her.

Birdy swallowed, and looked over to the door leading to the other room.

"Danke, fraulein!" he said, and then vanished, together with her gun.

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Graydon had only been lying there for a few minutes, when he heard the loud bang from outside the door, and Logan's voice screaming his surname.

"Logan…" he began, but stopped when that all too familiar smoke and bad smell popped up from out of nowhere in front of him.

"Guten Tag, Greedy," Nightcrawler greeted him jokily, as he appeared before him.

"Guten Tag, Wagger," Graydon greeted back, getting up from the floor. "What took you so long?"

"Hey, we first had to call the Professor!" Nightcrawler said, acting insulted, as he helped his friend up. "And traffic tonight was, let me tell you, horrendous!"

"Is the Professor here?"

"No, he couldn't get away from the conference, but he was able to track you here."

"I thought he couldn't without Cerebro?"

"Luckily for us, you weren't far away. Just far enough for Xavier to get a lock on you and tell us where to go."

"Where are we?"

"Just at a motel a few miles from the mansion. Sabretooth was able to hide his scent from Wolverine, so it was lucky the Professor was around, otherwise we would never have been able to find you."

'Apparently, dad didn't take everything into consideration,' Graydon thought, 'unusual of him.' It seemed so lax of his dad to take him and then not take every precaution of not being followed. Could his concentration be failing?

'Or was he just so desperate to get me that he didn't bother planning everything else?'

Graydon almost dismissed that thought, but then recalled his dad's earlier words, and wondered… _"YOU ARE MY SON! YOUR PLACE IS WITH __**ME**__!"_

A loud roar sounded from the other room, and Graydon ran out with Nightcrawler. The scene that greeted them was a ruined motel room, Wolverine and Sabretooth, their clothes in pieces, and multiple slash marks on them, with blood pouring out by the bucket-full.

Graydon couldn't see Birdy anywhere, and assumed she must have made a break for it. Not that he could blame her, as who would want to get in the middle of all that?

Sabretooth hissed, as Logan ripped out a chunk of his arm, and then noticed Graydon with the blue creature. "HE'S MINE!" he roared, charging at them, only to be stopped by Logan as he leaped onto the giant's back, throwing off his balance and pulling him to the floor.

"Not anymore he's not!" Logan snarled back at him.

Sabretooth brought his legs between him and Logan, kicking him off across the room, slamming him into the wall, leaving a human-sized dent in it.

"It's over, Creed!" Logan declared, hurrying back to his feet and sheathing his claws again. "Tonight it ends, well and truly this time! And this time, I'm gonna make sure I finish the job!"

With that, he gave one final roar and went racing at him, his claws out and ready for blood. It was clear to all what he was intending.

Nightcrawler stared in shock, while for Graydon everything seemed to be in slow motion. He watched as Logan, the man who had been a good friend and surrogate parent, went racing to the man who _was_ his father, intending to behead him as he had done once all those years ago.

Thoughts and memories began to flash in his mind. He remembered the first time that this had happened…

"_Who needs an army?" the man replied, as he landed back on the ground, breathing heavily. _

_Sabretooth's head rolled back on his shoulders, most of his throat cut, now just holding on by the skin of what was left of his neck. _

'I don't have anything to feel guilty about,' he thought furiously. 'Sabretooth has killed and maimed so many people in his life. He's ruined Logan's life more than a few times. If anyone deserves to die, it's him.'

As Logan neared Sabretooth, who was still kneeling on the floor, he positioned his claws so they would be in the best position to do clip the guy's head off from his shoulders.

'Sabretooth's done nothing to deserve anything less,' Graydon thoughts continued. "He has never…'

"_Daddy, no!" little Graydon said, as Sabretooth put his nose to his, sniffing him keenly. "Stop! It tickles!" He laughed, as his daddy sniffed him all over, tickling him._

"_Hold the gun steady," Sabretooth told him in his first gun-handling lesson, gently positioning Graydon's hands to hold the weapon carefully. _

"_Faster!" Graydon yelled excitedly, as his daddy walked while carrying him on his shoulders. _

"_Graydon is my boy, remember that!"_

"_I love you, daddy." _

Logan reached the last foot before Sabretooth…

"NOOOOOOO!" Graydon screamed, and suddenly ran forward; using every muscle he had in his legs to drive him forth.

Logan didn't even have time to gasp in surprise, as Graydon suddenly appeared before him, running in front of Sabretooth, let alone have time to sheath his claws.

They didn't seem to make a noise this time, as they went straight into Graydon's chest. Logan didn't even feel his claws go into him, and thought for one moment maybe they hadn't, and he had missed him somehow. But the growing stain of blood in Graydon's shirt soon dissolved that hope.

"Graydon!" Nightcrawler yelled, leaping over to his friend's side, grabbing him as he fell back when Logan pulled his claws out of him.

"Mein God! What have you done?"

Logan thought for a moment he was talking to him, but his yellow eyes were still on Graydon.

"You stupid fool, Graydon. Whatever possessed you…Hang on, Graydon! We'll get you back to the mansion. Beast can help, he can…"

Logan reached out and put a hand on Nightcrawler's shoulder. When he lifted his head up to him, the look in the rugged man's face was all the answer for him. Logan's enhanced hearing made him sensitive to all sorts of sound around him. He could hear a man walking toward him from across a crowded room, a wolf running across the plain…and the sound of a human heart beating its last beat.

Nightcrawler looked down at his friend's still face, his open eyes staring right at him, and yet not seeing anything. He raised his hand and gently closed his eyes. "May we meet in a better place, my friend…my brother," he said, not even knowing how true his words were, as his eyes filled with bitter tears.

Logan suddenly remembered Sabretooth! But when he turned to where the mutant had been kneeling just shortly before…he was gone.

**Epilogue to Follow…**


	12. Epilogue

**Epilogue: **

_**I do not own any of Marvel's characters. This isn't for profit, but fun! **_

0000000000

**X-Mansion: **

The funeral service was bitter, but sweet. Everyone had something to say about Graydon. Most of them came from former students who had arrived at the institute emotionally scarred, feeling unable to cope, but with kindness and support shown by Graydon they had managed to heal and bloom.

Professor Xavier talked about Graydon when he first met him, how he too was a disturbed young man, but who managed to overcome his demons.

Nightcrawler talked about all the games they had played on one another, and on others like Cyclops. How he never saw him just as a friend, but also as a brother.

Cyclops talked how he and Graydon rarely got along because Graydon thought he was a Teacher's Pet and a Stick in The Mud…which, he added amusedly, he was right about by the way. But when they worked together in the running of the school, there was nothing they couldn't do.

Many others got up to speak; offering their own voices in remembrance about the Xavier Institute's only non-mutant. The only one who didn't speak was Logan.

Everyone assured him that he was not to blame for Graydon's death. Nightcrawler had seen the whole thing, how Graydon had run right into him while his claws were out. Graydon had grown up with him, so he should have known better.

As far as Logan was concerned, that was all bullshit!

He should have been more attentive! He shouldn't have let his rage get the better of him! He should have…he should have…done _something_ different.

He had decided to leave the X-Men, despite everyone's protests, but he was adamant. There were too many memories there at the school, and he felt it was time to start fresh somewhere else. Or maybe go back to his old farm in Tibet? As far as he knew, it was still there and in his name.

"_I would like to speak!"_ a woman's voice suddenly spoke out from the crowd.

Everyone turned to see a dark-haired woman in glasses walk up to the stand. No one had a clue who she was.

"I didn't know Graydon Creed," she said, "at least not nearly as well as I would have liked. But I am pleased he was surrounded by good friends, and had a good life here with you X-Men. He obviously did good work by helping out your children and students, and thought of others before himself, which is far more than a lot of us can say for ourselves… May you rest in peace, Graydon."

With that, the woman stepped away from the stand, heading towards the exit.

Many wanted to stop her and ask who she was, but many more still wanted to speak, so they allowed her to go in peace.

0000000000

**Several Hours Later: **

The dark-haired woman stood outside her car, parked right outside the gates of the Xavier Institute. She had been standing there for over an hour, ever since the end of the funeral.

She was waiting for someone.

She heard the sound of a man's footsteps approaching her, but didn't bother turning around. She knew who it was.

The footsteps continued approaching her until they were standing right beside her, yet still she didn't turn, nor did she even think to be afraid, which was what a lot of people would be, especially considering those footsteps belonged to.

"Hello, lover," she simply said.

The man in the oversized shoes lifted up his hat at her. "Mystique," he greeted her.

"Sabretooth," she greeted back.

"Didn't figure on you being here," he said, leaning back on her car beside her. "You were never there for him when he was growing up. Why now?"

"I was there at the beginning of his life. It seemed only right I be there at the end of it."

He grunted. "Didn't figure you for the sentimental type."

"Look who's talking. By the way, where's that slut of yours?"

He smirked. "Why, you jealous?"

She scoffed. "Please, any feelings I ever had for you, if I ever did, died long ago, Creed."

He growled. "Birdy's home. I told her to wait till I needed her." He looked at her curiously. "How'd you know Graydon was here and everything by the way? You haven't shown your blue hind to him since before he was crawling, and suddenly you're at his funeral."

She shrugged. "The X-Men and I have had some dealings in the past, and I learned he was with them."

"And you didn't bother showing yourself to him in all that time?"

"What would be the point?"

Sabretooth glared at her, and then they sat in silence for a few seconds before he finally asked, "Incidentally, give me one good reason why I shouldn't be ripping your throat out right about now?"

"Wouldn't that be bad taste, on the day of our son's funeral and all?"

"I've done worse."

"You wanna fight, okay. But don't forget where we are. I imagine a lot of the X-Men are probably blaming you for what happened to Graydon, and a fight would soon attract their attention."

Sabretooth said nothing to that, and just growled again, leaning further back against the car. In truth, there was nothing he wanted more than to taste her blood on his lips, right after ripping her blue hide into so many pieces that not even her morphing powers would give her back a full form. But he couldn't deny she was right. A fight here, right outside the X-Mansion, would be unwise.

It wasn't just because she had once betrayed him that he wanted to slice her to ribbons, but also because of her abandoning Graydon. It reminded him bitterly of his own mother, how she had stood by while his father had tortured him for years in that damn cellar.

'I'm gonna need Birdy to give me the Glow again, soon as I get back,' he thought, and then asked aloud, "How'd you know I'd be here?"

"I took a chance that you might come to our boy's funeral. Granted, I knew you'd never be stupid enough to actually go into it, what with all those X-Men there gunning for your blood. But I figured you'd be some place close by, just to watch. I also knew you'd be able to sniff me out wherever you were. After that, it was just a simple matter of waiting."

"What do you want, Mystique?"

"Just…to talk."

"About what?"

"Anything you want really. But…I guess what I'd really like to know is about Graydon. You raised him after all."

"Raised him, yeah. But he weren't mine in the end. After all that, he ended up being Logan's son instead!" He snarled.

She gave him a long stare. 'Still possessive, as always,' she thought, remembering all too well how he was during their relationship. The memories of their time together still gave her the creeps. She remembered how she would sleep with his arms encased around her, leaving her little room to move, and the morning after when she would wake up and find him standing over her, just staring at her. She had felt like a prisoner, and couldn't even imagine what life for their son must have been like.

"I'm not sure about that," she said finally.

He looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"Logan was about to skewer you, right? Only Graydon jumped in at the last minute, sacrificed himself for you. Tell me, what guy would do that for anyone but his own father?"

Sabretooth went silent again, wondering how she even knew about all that.

"So?" she asked.

"So what?"

"So…what was he like? Did he like school? Did he have many friends? What was his favourite story as a kid?"

Sabretooth stared at her for a few moments, and then he got up.

"Where you going?" she said, looking up at him.

"I don't need this shit right now," he said, and looked as if he were about to leave. Before he did, though, he took a long look at the woman he had once come close to actually loving. "You had your chance to be a part of his life years ago, Mystique. You blew it. Don't come crying to me now."

Mystique shrugged, as though it didn't matter. "It's in my nature, Creed. I'm a shapeshifter after all, trusted by no one, not even our own kind. I learned long ago that the only thing I could trust was myself. So I did what I could only do…and survived."

Sabretooth tilted his head at her. "By any means necessary I'm guessing. Hence why you dumped your baby boy into the lap of a guy who for all you knew might have killed him."

She said nothing.

"Like I said, Mystique…you had your chance years ago. It's too late now. Deal with it."

He turned again to leave, only to be stopped when she suddenly shot out her hand and grasped his.

"I'm not asking for the world!" she said, her tone sharp, and her yellow eyes for once holding something akin to desperation, but she did not beg. "I'm only asking to know a little something…_anything,_ about our son. Is that too much for you?"

This time he didn't bother to turn around. He didn't even say anything, and just walked out of her grasp. And that was by far the worst and most cruel punishment that he had ever given anyone before in his whole life, and this time he hadn't even needed to unsheathe his claws.

She watched him go until he was out of sight. Once he was gone, Mystique the famed shapeshifter, a feared agent known for her cold and callous personality, noted for her sharp attitude…let a small tear roll down her cheek.

**The End!**

**To know more about the X-Men or the mentioned stories in this saga…buy the comics! **


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